The Broken Victory
by Kate Lynn
Summary: {DONE!} What drove Hogwarts' most brilliant student to become its greatest foe? Step into a mind that has failed to see past the darkness, and watch the chilling memories that were poured into Tom Riddle's diary resurface...
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer: **The opening quote in the summary is by Malcolm Muggeridge. The chapter title Karma Police is a song title by Radiohead. St. Paul's name was taken from the biblical story of his conversion on the Road to Damascus. The animal magic history was based upon the mythological studies of D.J. Conway.

**Author's Notes: **Many thanks to Wynne, Arabella, Freelancer and Faelaern (all my amazing betas) and to MagicalTimes for brit-picking. Also thanks to Gangstersteph and Ruxi for the fanart.

**The Broken Victory**

_It isn't much. A little black leather, a brass buckle, some worn pages smeared. _

_My smears.__ My words, my thoughts, my voice, my story. My life, before me. _

_What does it hold? A version. An account, faithfully kept all these years, yet it is hardly truer than the memories themselves. Truth can become more factual with age, when emotions ease and a distant perspective takes hold. _

_But that is not what this is. _

_I close it softly, the wind gusting through helping to flip the pages to its end. The windows are stuck askew, leaving me to wonder if any windows besides the ones at Hogwarts work. Not that it matters. The decrepit steam-train rattles forward in worn yet determined chugs through the surrounding Transylvanian forests, and the fresh air cuts the stench of burnt chips and the conductor's mint and whiskey-laced sweat. The fact that the train moves at all is a miracle, but it has remained in business long enough to be of use to me, and that is all that matters._

_I place the diary beside me on the seat, feeling the wind whip right through me. Alongside my past are myacquisitions for the future, boxes of odd shapes brimming with horrific and hard-won wonders. The nervous energy those treasures exude is contagious and I relish it, fingering the paper casing with anticipation. Next to the great, throbbing power in the bags and air, the old book seems worn and pitiful. _

_Well, it is over, really. And none know better than I the account of Tom Marvolo Riddle. _

_I direct the diary outward, letting the wind and my wand carry it out the window. When I need it, it will come back. For now, it is..._

**Chapter 1: Happy Christmas, and Other Oxymorons**

"...Nothing, really." I spoke softly, answering the overheard question to myself. "That's what it's like to be an orphan on Christmas." Honestly, how dim-witted were the couples that came to purchase a family? The ones who held my undetected attention now, a small, balding soprano and an aging smoker, were forcing their inane questions on little Jiminy. Jiminy was too focused on the fact that someone was finally paying attention to him to care that they behaved as if they were at a kennel, making sure he could fetch and was paper-trained. I would have kicked my own shins before I ever acted so subserviently. Jiminy, however, was positively preening in his worn suit, proudly doing turns on request to show off the hand-me-downs. The hopeful hunger in his eyes made me shift my gaze, embarrassment welling higher inside me the longer I watched. I was glad no one was looking at me with interest. I was.

Instead, I stared at the tree, half-decorated garishly and situated in a prime location at the center of the room. In one hand I still held an ornament which had to be placed on the sparse branches. It was tradition at the orphanage Christmas party that all the children parade about and hang up ornaments on Christmas Eve. All of it was done for adults who seemed to think that the most creative idea in the world was to adopt on this holiday. I had dubbed it orphan season, like rabbit season. Yes, I know, I was bursting with creativity.

"Marvolo, what are you doing?" It was, of course, the headmistress of the orphanage twittering beside me. Turning, I found Mrs. Blunt, dressed prudishly in a prim long dress and wide belt, with wafts of hair uncharacteristically falling out of her strict bun. However, the overall effect was still severe enough to tighten my stomach. While it probably lacked in current fashion, her appearance more than fit her dismal personality. However, right then she was far more festive than I'd ever seen her before. Her hollow cheeks were red and she seemed pleased with yet harried by the event so far. Decidedly she was puffed up on self-congratulations, though I'd heard someone say something of whiskey-laced eggnog.

Automatically, I responded to her address. She, her husband, and her son often called me Marvolo, never Tom. There were too many of us apparently, so it was easier for them to call us by our middle names or our last names. I didn't mind much at that point. What was in a name, truly?

Eyeing her with forced politeness, I replied. "Bearing good tidings and cheer?"

From the way her small eyes narrowed, I supposed that I had gotten the line wrong. "You have been standing there for _twenty_ minutes not putting your decoration on the tree, and with that terrible smirk!" Mrs. Blunt replied angrily, though on her face she kept a plastic smile to display to her guests. Her voice merely dropped, turning more hissing in its disdain.

Glancing down, I examined the ornament in my hand. It was a small golden ball, decidedly smaller than Madam Blunt's mouth. Once I hung it up there on a branch it would get lost in the cluttered crowd anyway. Still, I didn't see anything productive to be gained by arguing with the woman, so I strolled over and carefully placed the ball on the tip of a branch. Without smiling, I immediately backed up and felt her manicured hand fall upon my frayed shirt.

"Riddle, what are we going to do with you? You absolutely refuse to make any effort to participate in the events we hold here. Don't you know you're not getting any younger? This is the best season. Members of the _British Council_ have even been invited!" Her voice rose to propagate that statement, dropping off then to continue, "there are so many people here, _good_ people, charitable, who are willing to take children in, even ones like you, and still you make no effort to socialize!" Mrs. Blunt seemed caught between her anger and frustration.

Lovely woman, wasn't she? I'd have gladly bet a thousand pounds that she didn't even know my age. All she knew was that I was a half-life. Maybe she thought we aged differently than humans, like dogs. Most likely, she just didn't even think about it. I shouldn't give her the credit of thought.

"I forgot that I was in season. Where is the auction block again?" She might have been too tipsy to comprehend it, or perhaps she never really listened when I spoke, but either way my comment went ignored. Instead, she steered me toward a group of chattering adults. Two of them stopped conversing and stared at me, and then began whispering frantically. Looking at the man, I felt nervous for some reason, and began subconsciously fingering the cross on a chain that hung around my neck. It was real silver, probably worth more than my life at one point, though by now it was so chipped and marred it was of no interest to any but me. In sneaking into the office to see my files years ago, I had found out that my father had left it to me before I was born. Still, it wasn't overtly special. Almost all the children at the orphanage wore some kind of religious symbol, but I hadn't really the faith. To be honest, I didn't know why I kept wearing it, but I felt strange without it on. Plus, it was an excellent thing to play with to calm my nerves.

The woman, dressed in an oddly fashioned purple dress and cloak, eyed me and made a wild gesture to her associate as Mrs. Blunt was guiding me aside. Even without being much aware of current society, I found her appearance strange. She smiled, not unkindly, and motioned for Mrs. Blunt to stop. Mrs. Blunt, her eyes wide with shock, stepped aside and crossed her arms, clearly saying that I had better be on my best behavior, _or else._

"Hello dear, what's your name?" the woman asked in a tone that didn't fully belie her sharp eyes. Red lips stretched wide across her face, far tighter than her flowing gown. One of her hands clutched the arm of her associate. The man merely stood at her side, watching with keen eyes and occasionally stroking his dark beard. He had the solid bearing of famous military generals I'd seen pictures of in books, ones whose surety came from strength of mind as well as muscle.

After quickly looking them over I replied, "Tom Marvolo Riddle." Always give your full name, I had been told. The more names you had, the more impressive a prospect you sounded. As I answered, the tone of my voice sounded oddly familiar.

"And how old are you?"

"Almost eleven." Stand taller, and look proud. I'd also been told children were supposed to try and impress the adults. I found myself doing it, but didn't have time to dwell on it. I was quickly realizing that I had morphed into Jiminy in my behavior

She nodded quickly, accepting my responses but eagerly chiming in with new replies such as, "my, Tom, you're certainly tall for your age." Her focus upon me was disconcerting, and I'd yet to learn to hold my tongue.

"Really? That's a relief. I always thought I was just surrounded by leprechauns." Recall that feeling of eyes burning into you? Who do you suppose was doing that to me at that moment? Ignoring the glare, I added, "I - I mean, thank you." My ruse didn't work. The couple looked perplexed for a moment, and then the man pulled the woman aside. Both turned their backs to me and resumed whispering. As if I had never existed.

Chest clutching a bit I turned and saw Mrs. Blunt looking furious and embarrassed. In her low hiss she spat, "Riddle, get out of my sight. We'll deal with you later."

Lovely. I was on the verge of returning to being my usual festive self when she blocked my way again, saying, "No, Mr. Blunt will see you in his office."

"Now?" I asked, trying to hide my surprise. It was an unusual command; they never did business or dealt with the children during a party. Every other year I was in trouble I had been sent to see them the next morning.

Mrs. Blunt swayed. She tried to fix a steady, stern look at me, but ended up glaring at a plant. In a voice more croaky than disdainful she said, "of _course_ now, Marv - Marvlo - Marvavolo - oh, just go!" Well, I'd rarely been called smart - and then, it was often suspiciously _too_ smart - but I didn't need to be told twice to leave. I all but ran to the other end of the orphanage, my footsteps creaking on the broken floor, slipping where rain and snow had come through the cracked roof. The orphanage had been converted from an abandoned farmhouse long ago, refurbished with brick and left to decay from neglect. Still, it had an interesting structure to it with many nooks and crannies, and overall it was worn but functional. The Blunts' quarters were downstairs, as was the kitchen, hall, dining room and study. Mr. Blunt's office was hidden in a corner, away from the noise of the children who slept upstairs.

I wondered why he was here, locked away in his office on the night of the party. As I stood in front of the thick wooden door as I had countless times before, I felt oddly nervous. Perhaps it was an after-effect of seeing the man with the keen eyes a moment ago, or the built-up nerves caused by a wearing night. Either way, there wasn't a chance I'd show any Blunt such emotion if I could resist. Steeling myself, I forced a calm smile onto my face and knocked, listening to the echoing rattle. It took him forever to answer, his slow steps trickling through audibly. I remained still, listening to the heavy thuds crossing the floor inside, and the creaky chain being lifted before the door swung open.

Mr. Blunt...how to describe him? He didn't appear overtly mean, maybe a bit hardened around the eyes. Rather, he was a tired looking man in his middle-years, with thinning black hair and a beard. His clothing hung oddly around his disproportionate form, which was thin in some parts, portly in others. It seemed that his naturally skinny frame was in constant combat with the unhealthy eating and drinking habits he never seemed to have the will to curb. Whenever he stared at me I noticed that his face was a mixture of white and red, and when he wasn't giving in to bouts of hysteria, he had a look of quiet pity and regret. His clothes were nice but old, in blandly drab colors, nothing at all like Mrs. Blunt or their son Trevor. Only a pair of snappy wing-tipped shoes separated him from the dull atmosphere of his study.

Tonight was no different as I stared at him. Mr. Blunt smiled at me, once he made sure his wife was not around. Waving me in, careful to avoid any actual physical contact with me, he said in a broken voice, "Hello, Marvolo. Take a seat." I did so, feeling smaller than moments ago. He sometimes caused that to happen.

The room was somehow simultaneously cluttered and yet it felt empty, like all of the rooms at the orphanage. It was a mixture of dull grey and dark brown wood, with faded furniture that at least matched. A calendar hung on the wall, but other than that and a small window overlooking a desolate landscape, the walls were bare. The fireplace was unlit, without even any wood present to collect dust. A solemn candle sat dripping in the corner of the desk next to a pile of papers, giving off a pathetic light. The contrast between this room and the festive party down the hall was astounding. Call me morbid, but I preferred this room. It was more real. I breathed a sigh of relief once the door shut and most of the scratchy carols droning from the victrola were muffled.

I took a seat on a hard wooden chair, fingering my chain. Mr. Blunt saw me and blanched, and quickly I dropped my hand. I knew that this bothered him, and I had no desire to make him suffer. Mr. Blunt didn't seem to hate me, and I was quick to capitalize on that fact whenever I could by seeming to act as he wished me to. And, well... it was simply nice to have someone who didn't seem to detest me all the time. No matter what, though, the emotion radiating from his was still decidedly far from warm. I could see he felt pity for me, accompanied by an obvious fear. He said over and over again that I was cursed since birth, having demon blood in me. I didn't really know what that meant, though I wouldn't ask even if I could. In any event, I was not supposed to show any signs of abnormality, inhumanity, or unchristian behavior. I didn't know how playing with a cross was abnormal, but then, I hardly needed another lecture about how I was going to burn in hell.

Mr. Blunt sat at his desk, staring somewhere above my head. "Marvolo, what did Mrs. Blunt and I repeatedly say to you this afternoon?"

Like I had listened. I had no reason to, for it was the same thing they had been telling me repeatedly for years. By rote I replied, "No funny business. Nothing out of the ordinary is to happen, especially today."

Mr. Blunt nodded, re-emphasizing, "_Especially_ not today. Today is special for everyone, not just the children hoping to be adopted."

I nodded. "Right. It's also the birth of your Lord."

"Of everyone's Lord, Marvolo."

"Right. That's what I meant."

Mr. Blunt sighed heavily. I did the same, more in frustration over not understanding what I was doing wrong. I was repeating everything I had been told, but he still looked disapproving. I hated it when I tried my hardest and still didn't get something right. Clamping my jaw shut, I waited for him to take the lead in the conversation again.

"Marvolo, you especially must try hard to stay on the right path. I don't know what else we can do for you. We promised that, if you could go a whole year without unfit acts of ...a particular nature...you could get a gift this year. It works for all the other children. You almost made it this year. Why do you _refuse -_"

I cut him off. "I haven't done anything like that! Honestly, not since last October! Nothing has blown up, nobody levitated, and Mrs. Blunt didn't even grow anything abnormal. I never consciously try to do those things, they just happen, but nothing has happened this year, I swear!" Indeed, at times in my private thoughts I had wished ill fortune on several, but nothing had ever come of it for months. In a way, I was almost regretful that was so, since it barely seemed to cut down on Mrs. Blunt's and several of the children's blatant and active dislike of me.

I think that was louder and longer than I had spoken at one time in a long while. Mr. Blunt looked at me curiously, and I chastised myself. I normally had good self-control, but I had panicked, and now he would question me again to no avail. Strange things simply tended to happen around me, and I couldn't explain them. It only reinforced everyone's opinion that I was a demon, and even I was starting to wonder. The bizarre things seemed to have stopped, but now...

The dull color of Blunt's eyes was fastened to my face, his voice having that faint forcefulness it always did when he sensed a crack in me to pry open. "Marvolo, then how can you explain the demon kind that are inhabiting our common room right now?"

Demon kind? "I - I don't know what you mean, sir. What demon kind?" I wasn't even fully certain how to tell I was demonic myself. I hadn't green blood - though some had checked - or any such thing. I also had no explanation for any of the weird occurrences that happened around me, though I longed to understand and control them. My heart pounded in an odd burst of desire, hoping something he said would help me comprehend how I was to define 'demonic.'

Mr. Blunt turned red. He had more patience than his wife, but even he had his limits if he felt someone was lying. "Don't lie to me, you - you -" He fumed, and I was ready for an onslaught of accusatory terms, but Blunt refrained himself. He merely said, "I try so hard. Mrs. Blunt, she said you were a lost cause, but I couldn't believe it. You were a child, and showed such promise." His eyes softened into a look of sad pity, a harsher gaze to me than one filled with hate. "When I think about your father..." His voice drifted off, the words carrying such weight they settled low in my chest after entering my ears.

I froze. In a whisper I said, "Don't talk about my father."

I don't think he heard me. "If he knew that you were born - born as you _are - _well, it would have been his greatest fear fulfilled, I'm sure. Lord knows the things that supposedly happened, for you to have been brought here under...shall we say, less than desirable circumstances? Yet despite any rumors, I took you in." He leaned back in his chair, eyes again leaving my face as he continued, "I supposed, putting you away here, that you stood a chance to be normal. There was a possibility that you might choose a different life. I have tried to give you a chance, away from those who whispered you a demon at birth. Now, with these _people _out there, I just don't know. I don't know how they found you, but I'm sure that if you didn't want to be found, you wouldn't have been. It seems that you've made your choice."

Needless to say, I felt very confused. And I didn't normally get confused. My stomach twisted, as if I was going to cry from frustration. I tried to calm myself, but I knew my voice shook. "Mr. Blunt, I don't understand. I don't know what is wrong with me, but I swear, I didn't do anything!" It was far easier to defend myself when I was covering something, but right then I hadn't that advantage.

My words didn't fall on deaf ears. Mr. Blunt stood up slowly, and crossed over to me. I flinched as he stooped down to my level, saying very seriously, "Marvolo, are you telling me the truth? Do you really have no idea what is going on?"

I saw no reason to lie, and anyway, Mr. Blunt was not in a violent mood. The only time he used violence was when he became hysterical and then lashed out, and those times were rare. At least I would not have to hear the excuse that he was enforcing moral discipline, so the beating would still coincide with his religious ideals. Such sanctimony was worse than any physical pain. I had personally never bought his brand of morality as anything more than an excuse, but then, I had never needed religion.

"I am telling the truth."

Mr. Blunt nodded seriously, almost breaking into a smile. He seemed very relieved, a feeling I shared with him right then. Certainly, Blunt was flawed, but he was the best to me of the lot, and for some reason his opinion mattered. That he had faith in me, however little, was the only encouragement I'd ever received in my life.

He motioned for the door. "Very well, Marvolo, I believe you. I'll take care of this. They won't bother you again."

I slid shakily off of my seat and followed him to the party. It was dwindling down, and many of the younger children had gone to bed. The adults who'd made adoptions had left with the intent to finalize their deals the next day. Only a dozen or so were left, including Mrs. Blunt, Trevor, and the two adults who had spoken with me. They had been ostracized to the corner of the room, where Mrs. Blunt was glaring at them.

Mr. Blunt, to his credit, walked right up to them. He was a meek man to my knowledge, but when given the chance to preach he seemed to expand, inflating for a short while with something he found full of substance. Right now he ignored his wife's simpering, crossing over to stand below eye-level of the keen-eyed man. A silence fell over the room as the two squared off.

The man spoke. His voice was strong, containing a bit of whimsy as well in his guttural accent, as if amused by Blunt's behavior. "Yes?"

Mr. Blunt paused, and then said, "I'd rather not do this in front of company." His tone was stiff, seeming even more so when juxtaposed with the other man's lightness.

"Do what?" was the flippant response.

Blunt's mouth immediately opened, and then closed, as if he were constantly reconsidering his immediate responses. He finally settled on, "Make a scene. However, I'm not willing to give you much time, either, regardless of the surroundings. The choice has been made, and not in your favor, I'm happy to say." His voice gained a bit more confidence there, to where he could finish quicker than before by saying coldly, "So if you'd please just leave, and _never _return, I won't have to resort to anything."

The man's eyes narrowed, in a manner not threatening but irritated. "And what precisely could you resort to?" Scorn dripped down from his eyes and out his mouth with those words.

Before anything else could be said, the woman stepped in. "Perhaps this isn't the best of times for this. We'll come back later."

Blunt's form stiffened more than his voice at that, and a touch of panic crept into his defiant words. "No, you will not." Under the other man's gaze, Blunt wilted slightly, his tone turning more wheedling as he gestured towards me. "It won't be necessary. He can give you nothing. He has no idea what he is doing!" Then, as if alighted by those words, he added, "And if it's not his fault, then it is your doing. And I will not condone it. Leave now."

The woman was about to speak again when the man interrupted. Smiling oddly, he seemed to speak in response to Blunt, but his gaze was now entirely focused upon me. "Oh, he has nothing, you say? A pity. Well, we'll just be going then, except -" At that moment, a small snake flew out of his robes and landed on the floor, where it scurried away. Mrs. Blunt screamed and everyone began stampeding, more in reaction to her screech than probably actually seeing the ridiculously small creature. His face a blotched maroon, Mr. Blunt turned back to the man as he was jostled by his wife. I heard him begin to speak. "What the hell do you think you are doing? Get your unholy trinkets out..."

And then I heard a voice over the din.

It was low, with an odd speech impediment. I glanced quickly about, but found no speaker anywhere. With the mayhem surrounding me I tried to ignore it, and yet the sound continued, somehow forcing my gaze to follow it to the floor.

When I looked down I saw the little snake, who was hiding behind an overturned chair. His tongue was flicking in and out, and his little black orbs looked as surprised by my acknowledgment of him as I was of his. Again he hissed, a hiss even I had never heard before. One that I knew was filled with caution and curiosity, for it told me so with words I could understand.

I did not back away, though I certainly didn't approach it yet. I may have webbed a person's hand or two, but animals did not normally speak to me. Reason told me that it couldn't be the snake. His mouth forming words was a trick of the lights, and the words I heard were due to damage done to my ears by the screeching of the guests. I may have been abnormal, but I wasn't psychotic... I didn't think. Thoughts sprang up and overlapped in my mind to try and reason this event away, but were quickly overridden by my curiosity and childish excitement. When his glistening eyes focused on mine with a diligent stare, it seemed undeniable on a level far deeper than human rationale. Again I heard...

"Excsssiting party."

I tore my gaze away, my heart pounding. No one seemed to be watching me. Perhaps it was a trick of the devil people, as Blunt called them. Maybe they wished to lure me in as one of their own. Yet it didn't feel like a ruse; in fact, it felt more natural than any attempt at conversing I had ever done. I couldn't resist answering. "You can't understand me, can you?"

The snake nodded. "Yesss, I can." Unnoticed by others behind the chair, his caution seemed to lessen.

He appeared far too calm, and outwardly I tried adopted his attitude. "Wonderful. Of course you can." However, I'd not yet gained enough control to resist adding, "Can you talk to anyone else?"

The snake shook its head.

I felt a rise of smugness at that. It was quickly depleted, though, as reason seized me finally. "Of course you can't. I'm the lucky one who's going crazy." But it didn't feel like I was going crazy, much as it should. As I said, it seemed... natural. Right, almost. Like it was a part of me, an ability that had always been there, lurking and looking for a way out.

I suddenly realized that a circle was surrounding me. I looked up to see both the Blunts and the odd couple staring at me pointedly, though with different intents. The Blunts looked horrified, the couple merely intrigued.

Mr. Blunt, pale and sweating, whispered, "Marvolo, what are you doing?" He began to deflate before me, his assured stance wilting. Whatever substance had filled him for this short time was gone, and he now looked as if I had yanked it painfully out of him. The faint residue that remained seemed tinged with an anger or desperation. He let his wife push ahead of him so her disgusted, frightened gaze was in the forefront.

I didn't know why the truth came out, but it did, in a triumphantly defiant tone. "Speaking with the snake." I said it loud and strong, though the only things within my vision's range right then to hear it were the devil couple, the Blunts, and the snake. Immediately after, though, I felt nervous and unsure, looking at Mr. Blunt to see his reaction.

Trevor snorted, but Mrs. Blunt grabbed him furiously, looking terrified. Mr. Blunt said in blatant refusal, "No, no, you can't be, that's - that's -"

He looked helpless, as the other man said, "Oh, he can, _Blunt_. There isn't a way any one of us could make him do that."

Mr. Blunt merely whispered, "It's a trick, it has to be." I could see he was grasping for some reason to hide behind.

"I'm afraid not." The man's words were cutting in their indifference to Blunt, and then he turned to me. His smart eyes gleamed in excitement mingled with some indefinable emotion. "Have you done this sort of thing before?" he asked this calmly, his voice controlling whatever excitement his eyes seemed to show. Still, he was decidedly warmer to me now, perhaps to further nettle the Blunts. He even knelt before me, matching my eye level.

I shook my head fervently in response. "No, not on purpose, and never talking with a - a snake!" It sounded ludicrous, and at the same time, anything but that. The same confusion applied to what came out of me next as I stared at the tall man in dark robes. With a suddenly quiet intensity I said, "But I want to." The desire in my voice was amazing to my ears. It was a hungry hope. Never had the thrilling prospect of learning intrigued me as much, for this touched on an area inside that had always been forbidden to me.

I was half-frightened and guilty, knowing this was the sort of demon actions the Blunts warned me of. Another part of me mirrored the odd man's face, a smile infused with a burning curiosity.

A gargled sound escaped behind me, and I turned to find Blunt looking pleadingly at me. He held his hands up, refusing to meet the other man's eyes as he said, "Marvolo, you don't know what you are saying -"

The man stood and brushed himself off. "Oh, I'd say he does, Blunt. It seems he's had a change of heart, now that he's been given a proper choice." The man then turned back to me and smiled a neutral smile, his eyes flashing with something he obviously didn't intend to share. All he said was, "I'll be seeing you again, Parselmouth." With that, he and the woman swept out of the room without a backward glance. My gaze followed them, transfixed and tunneling my vision to their backs until the heavy door creaked shut.

Slowly, I became aware that I was now left alone with the Blunts and the small snake on the floor. They seemed stupefied, and now that we were alone I felt uncomfortable as well. Every sense of mine felt heightened as I was suddenly, painfully, self-conscious before them. My thin chest rose and fell, my breath sounding heavy to my ears. My mind was reeling, the unfamiliar explosion of emotion inside making my dizzy confusion worse. I forced myself to meet their gazes, but I didn't know how to break the silence.

Apparently, though, they did.

Mrs. Blunt, eyes blazing, pointed at me and screeched, "I told you! I want him out of this place, immediately! He'll infect all the others! Demon! Check his blood now, it's probably green!" She said this hysterically while backing away, holding Trevor tightly in her arms.

Mr. Blunt looked deadened, as if something had been lost. "Go upstairs, Tom." I stood, stunned. That was the first time he had called me that. It sounded strange. I stared at him hard, trying to get him to look at me, but he refused. I had no desire to see the disgust on the other faces in that room, so I turned and left, carrying the small snake in my arms. Alone I climbed up the creaking, splintered staircase in silence, straining to but hearing nothing below.


	2. Chapter 2:

**Chapter 2: "Special" Cases**

I stumbled up the stairs in the dark and made my way down the hall. Over the banister I barely heard the muffled whispers and hisses that faded behind a slammed door. The wheels in my mind were whirling and spinning with such force that they seemed to strike electric sparks. At the same time, I had no clue as to what the strange scene in the room below had meant. Blunt's confrontation with the oddly dressed man was perplexing to say the least. The part of me that had first been thrilled to discover my burgeoning power was being sucked away, and an intense fear flooded me in its place. What was happening around me_, to_ me? Mrs. Blunt's voice kept ringing in my ear -_'Demon! Demon!' _There had been more than mere anger in her eyes. She had been full of disgust, skirting away from me like I was a plague upon her society. But wasn't I?

My eyes focused on the reality in front of me then, taking in the torn rags upon the floor. I walked dully over to the smudged mirror that hung in the musty bath. I stared into it, examining every inch of my face, looking for something--what, I didn't know. All I saw was a tall, scrawny boy, pale by nature and by the confining walls which ensured he saw little sunlight, his hair curly and dark while his blue eyes seemed to change hue to suit his mood. The latter detail might have been part fancy, but the color did in truth seem to shift at times. Right then they were a dark, midnight color, mirroring the circles beneath. I gazed into myself, staring back, becoming lost in the empty reflection of my eyes, until -

"Looking for fleas?" I knew the voice without even turning. It belonged to Sean Reilly, another lifer at the orphanage. Sean was sixteen and heavyset, though nobody knew how. He was a father figure to most of the younger boys, acting so nurturing it had made me feel sick and envious at the same time. Jealous of what, I had no idea. Emotions rarely made sense, no matter how hard I tried to understand them. Often, I found it easier to ignore them if I could. In any event, Sean and I had an uneasy relationship. For some reason he avoided me, as did all the children, probably due to the Blunts' warnings. When he did speak to me, it was always with a rough edge, as if he had to prove he didn't fear me. And then, in stark contradiction, he sometimes stared at me with a softer gaze, which we both seemed to find equally discomforting. Most often, he stayed away in seeming wariness.

I laughed at the irony. Here I was, scared of myself, yet still inspiring fear in others. Imagine if I actually tried to do so? But I had no desire to make others afraid. Well, maybe Mrs. Blunt... followed by Trevor and all his friends who called me a half-life, spit on me, tripped me, and beat me repeatedly. Oh, and let's not forget the nurse, who wouldn't touch me even when I was sick. I looked at my reflection again, catching sight of the little snake still wound around my hand.

I suppose I had been quiet for a while, for Sean actually asked, "you okay, Riddle?"

I shook my head. Avoiding eye contact, I said softly, "didn't get a present this year."

I didn't know if Sean understood what that meant or not. Either way, I half-grimaced as he then became maternal instinct incarnate. "Riddle, I'm--" He suddenly paused, as if realizing who he was talking to. He backed away quickly, saying, "too bad. Nothing good anyway."

"I wouldn't know." Instinct overtook me, and I spontaneously decided to face him. I turned my tired gaze towards him, for once not covering it with a smirk or a guarded expression. He was taller than me, and I obliged, tilting my head upwards. I wouldn't cry, but this was as unassuming as I could get. I told myself that I was just doing this as an experiment, to see if he would comfort someone like me. Not that I would allow it--or like it--or needed it-

Sean stared back at me. A moment of silence followed. He seemed torn, but maybe I was superimposing what I wished or expected to see. Finally, his mouth opened, and he let out an indistinguishable noise, then turned and left. I turned as well, back to the mirror. _Experiment over_, I said to myself, fighting back the urge to choke. Tears came, and I hastily wiped them away. At that moment, little Jiminy chose to enter, and he let out a gasp at seeing me.

I spun around, embarrassment and fury overtaking me. "What the hell are you looking at? Get out, or I'll sic this snake on you!" Jiminy squealed and fled, causing a commotion in the next room. He was probably spilling his little heart out to Sean. I whirled, fuming, letting myself relish the feeling. It helped me to forget the pain and embarrassment. Still, my chest heaved beneath the threadbare shirt as I heard Jiminy's voice. I struggled to calm myself and think logically. There was_ no_ _way_ that I was upset over Sean not comforting me. It wasn't his place to, and more importantly, I didn't need it. I was used to this treatment, for it had been always been that way. Trevor and Mrs. Blunt were always kind enough to inform me I was never worth being cared for. The response I always gave myself was that I didn't need their care, repeating it to form a shield with which to deflect their words. Pathetically enough, it wasn't sufficient at that time. I could only hope that one day it would be hardened enough to keep anything at all from piercing me.

I saw my quivering lip, my blazing eyes, and I heatedly smacked my face. It left streaks of prominent red across the whiteness of my skin, but sunk no deeper than that. The action was calming, and I watched its effects as I drew myself back under control. Through gritted teeth I whispered, "Like I want them around me anyway. They're all weak and pathetic - I'd rather have twenty demons in me than go crawling to someone like Sean!"

Immediately my expression changed to steel. An implacable wall now replaced the sniveling, pitiful glaze over my eyes. The small snake had slithered up my arm and was now residing on my shoulder, having watched the transformation. In a low hiss it said, "Amazsssing -"

As I looked at myself, I was the same on the inside as I appeared outwardly. I felt nothing, I was hollow and empty, like nothing could penetrate me. Still, I noted that my hard gaze seemed to be protecting nothing but air, which was a disconcerting thought until I shoved it away. I turned and walked out into the narrow dormitory which was lined with broken beds. A few faces turned toward me, visions of silent disgust. I had spent years trying to decipher exactly what the expressions people turned on me encompassed. The distanced eyes, narrowed and drawn, the mouths curling with repulsion, the nostrils flared, the unconscious movements away from me - many words could be used to describe this phenomenon. By having devoted my time to objectively analyzing them, I ensured that their gazes no longer fully achieved their desired impact.

I was prepared for such a greeting and ignored them, calmly striding to the end where my bed was located. Sean was waiting there with several others, including little Jiminy. They were standing with arms crossed, lined behind the figure of Jiminy on the floor. I sighed outwardly, my hand automatically going to my throat for the chain.

Sean looked as puffed up as ever, a peacock trying to preen in oiled and shorn feathers. "Riddle, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm evil, remember?"

Sean's eyes narrowed. "Not funny." I shrugged, tossing [url=] onto my bed. At that several of the children flinched, which brought me mild satisfaction. Even Sean had jerked slightly, and in response to the flush that he must have felt creep up into his face, he added hotly, "Cute trick, but it didn't work. Why should I be afraid of a skinny little_ thing_ like you?"

"Good question. Let's sleep on it."

Sean stepped forward, placing his hands protectively on Jiminy's shoulders. "Apologize to him, Riddle. Now."

I glanced at Jiminy, whose eyes were red and huge. I felt a pang of guilt, but then, it wasn't my fault! _If Sean hadn't acted like such a rat to me, I wouldn't have lashed out_, I reasoned. Still, Jiminy looked so sad that it was hard to look at him. Pitiful, but sad.

Sean was waiting, looking ready for a fight. My ego was ready, but reason clearly stated that a fight wasn't the way for me to go. As diplomatically as I could, I looked back down to Jiminy and said, "I am sorry you got hurt, Jiminy. Truly." I turned then to my bed, but felt Sean's hand grasp my shoulder painfully, digging into that bony structure.

"That was hardly an apology."

I shrugged, uncomfortable with his touch, but he merely leaned in closer to me. His face inches away, he lowered his voice so that only I could make out his next comment. "Listen, you--you might have been born with a lot of tricks, but none of it's real. You try to hurt one of my boys and I'll kill you before they can throw your arse out, you soulless git."

The look in his eyes was deadly serious, daring me to strike. I shook loose from him, my temper flaring, feeling my lips curling into a mirroring snarl. "That's sweet, Sean. Nobody wanted you, so you actually feel the need to protect the one place that will have you - an orphanage. I admire that, I really do. Simply inspirational. But tell me, what are you going to do when the last of your litter has been auctioned off like Jiminy here?" I turned to Jiminy, on a roll now. I tried to stop, but I was too heated. "Congrats on that, Jiminy. I heard a really nice couple bought you. Just make sure you don't sneeze or drop anything on the floor, and they might keep you this time."

The moment of silence that fell over the room after the words left my mouth was deadening. I felt every vein in my body pulsing. I didn't want to but I stayed focused on Jiminy, whose face absolutely collapsed. He ran from the room sobbing. I wanted to run after him, to apologize - there was no excuse I could think of for my behavior towards him. More importantly, I realized I didn't want to come up with an excuse for my actions. For a moment, it had been wonderfully cathartic. Yet, as I stared at the door he ran through, shame, guilt and anger at myself washed over me in frightening waves. Never in my ten and a half years could I remember being so vicious to someone who so clearly didn't deserve it. My soul had vertigo.

Sean had backed away, and I thought he was preparing to strike me for sure. Instead, he merely looked sick with revulsion. I couldn't blame him. The feeling behind that look was mirrored within me. In a whispered voice filled with hatred he asked, "Does your heart beat?"

I tried to focus on him. Dully, I responded, "Sometimes. Not enough, I'm beginning to think."

Sean made for the door, leaving me standing there. I don't know how long he was gone, but when he returned I realized I hadn't moved. It couldn't have been that long, for he threw me an angry look as he said, "He won't come back in yet. He's hysterical. I'll give him a few minutes. Hey -" He called this loudly out to me as I left the room, but did not follow.

I found Jiminy curled up against a wall next to the staircase, sobbing into his knees. I felt horribly evil, and desperately wanted to make it up to Jiminy, but I hadn't a clue how to go about it. I was never let in on how to be comforting, or comforted. In truth I didn't want to be witness to a crying child, but I couldn't leave. Perhaps it was ego to prove I could comfort, perhaps concern over what Sean would otherwise do, or just plain guilt - whatever the reason or reasons, I didn't leave. Awkwardly I knelt down in front of him, waiting patiently for his sobbing to decrease. Finally he peeked at me through his fingers.

I took a deep breath, and said slowly, "Jim, I'm - I'm really very sorry. I had no right to say what I did. I was mad, but that's no excuse."

Jiminy shook his head, whispering, "You're right. You're right about it, but only you have the courage to say it."

I stared back at him, dumbfounded. "Right about what?"

Jiminy sighed. "The way we get treated. The fear that if we aren't the perfect sons and students for whoever takes us in, that if we disappoint them, they'll send us back. They'll never be a real family to us, whoever adopts us, will they? The uncond - uncondation..." his brow furrowed a bit there.

Automatically I offered, "Unconditional?"

He nodded, wiping a sleeve across his stained cheek and finishing, "Unconditional love, and all that. The fear will never go away."

_No_, I thought to myself. "Perhaps," I said lamely. Jiminy was staring at the floor, and I sighed, torn between comforting him and telling him the truth I had come to believe in. "Look Jiminy, I don't know if you'll ever feel secure. I don't know if any of us will." I hated to include myself, but hoped it would reach him better. Giving him a faint, forced smile, I finished, "But if anyone has a chance, it's you. You're exactly what everyone is looking for - you're a really good kid. And the people who come here, they can't _all_ be bad...I don't think..."

Jiminy turned to me, showing some spunk. "But you don't _know_ that, you don't _know _that they aren't all bad."

I had no answer to that. In my experiences, well, I had yet to be impressed. If people could just dump children like Jiminy in here, leave all the kids having to parade around for families and love, and the children actually _following_ this wretched choreography - no, I was not impressed with people so far.

The floor was getting cold as I knelt in my thin trousers. Somewhere a clock chimed, and I felt a smoothly scaled body slip onto the floor between Jiminy and myself. The look the snake gave me was one of clear disapproval. "Sssay sssomething to him," it hissed.

"I'm trying!" I said out loud, not realizing my mistake. Jiminy looked at me curiously as I fumbled to cover up. "I mean - I'm trying to -" All of a sudden an idea came to me. I looked at Jiminy, pulling him to his feet. "Come with me," I said.

I hastened downstairs, shushing his questioning protests, and sneaked us into Blunt's personal office. It was different than the work office I had been in earlier. Surprisingly cozy. Dark redwood furniture lay about with burgundy pillows, the walls were encased with bookshelves and paintings and family portraits. Nothing in there was new, but it was used and therefore had a welcoming atmosphere about it. I lit a candle and pointed Jiminy over to one of the walls, where a small oil painting hung meekly among its superiors. It was of a small dusty ranch house, with a garden and field before it. On one side the father was raking the fields, while a primly dressed woman was reading to two beautifully cherubic little girls under a hanging. Before her, three boys were sprawled on the ground, tussling playfully. Everyone's expression was serene and lighthearted, earthy and ideal.

I turned to Jiminy who stood mesmerized before it. "What's it of?" he asked.

"It's a painting by Arnold Crevanti, called _The Family_," I answered. "I read about it in one of Blunt's books in here. I've sneaked in and read everything here at least twice." I kept my gaze upon his face, watching his reaction. In truth, I didn't enjoy staring at the picture. Sometimes my eyes were too drawn to details to examine and pick apart whatever I was looking at. I noticed that the mother seemed poorly dressed; yet, her black hair was appealing to me. On occasion I even imaged she looked like my mother would have, before rebuking myself for such silly notions. The image in the picture was a farce, and such thoughts were pointless. Clearing my throat, I turned my gaze from Jiminy to examine the cuff of my sleeve, saying, "It's supposed to capture a moment of reality."

Jiminy didn't seem to acknowledge me. His eyes were still focused on the painting. "Is it real, though? Is it of real people?"

I shrugged, managing to look sincere. "It must be. I mean, even if these exact people don't exist, something like this must exist for him to have captured it. Some people must have this, a real family. Why not you?"

Jiminy turned to me shyly. "You really think so?"

I smiled at him, feeling a bit of relief. "Sure," I said.

Jiminy looked back up at it wistfully. "I hope so," he said quietly, then turned back to me. "Thanks, Riddle. I don't think you're all evil. I'll do what Blunt tells us to, I'll pray that you get a soul even with demon blood in you. It seems possible, no matter what Mrs. Blunt says."

The smile on my face froze. My heart, which I think had been beating, felt as if it had been sucked out and dropped to the floor. "Thanks, Jiminy. Have a good life."

Jiminy turned to head back up the stairs. "You, too," he said, as sincerely and earnestly as before. He smiled sweetly at me, trying so hard to be good to me, while I numbly waved back.

With a final wave, he exited the room. I sank down into one of the chairs as the snake slithered onto my hand. It was the only thing that had touched me in a non-threatening manner in as long as I could remember. I looked at it, but I could think of nothing intelligible to say.

"Interesting night," was what finally came out of my mouth.

The snake nodded; curling up on my knee with his cold, dry skin glowing. "I'll sssay," it agreed. "One moment I'm minding my own busssinesss in a nice de-gnomed orchard, and them sssome man picksssme up, throwsss me under hissss cloak, and dragsss me here where I get thrown on the floor and meet sssomeone who can talk to me." It sighed morosely. "I hope I am not going crazsssy."

I nodded, a small, empty smile forming on my face. The candle was almost out, and shadows were playing on the wall, their indefinite form as real to me as I felt myself to be. "I'll second that," I agreed. The snake nodded once, then was silent, leaving us to our own separate thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3: Racing Soldiers of Fortune

**Chapter 3: Racing Soldiers of Fortune**

The next few weeks carried a lost sort of feeling to me. I stared out the window, wondering why all the snow here seemed determined to turn to slush, and then the slush to mud. Even now, in the summer, the weather was still horrid. I was surprised this wasn't blamed on me as well. Sighing, I turned away, feeling depressed enough already. It was several months after the Christmas party, or maybe mere days. It was hard to tell at times, though the calendar in the dining hall supported the former time frame. Everything around me seemed blurred, unreal, although not much had changed. Mrs. Blunt still made me eat at a separate table in another room because I was not able to partake in the worshipping part of the meal. She'd done this on occasion in the past, but now it was routine. Often, she just neglected to give me food altogether. Trevor still beat me up, though perhaps a bit more now, since Mr. Blunt did not seem too keen on protecting me at all. In fact, whenever I breathed it seemed Mrs. Blunt would sharply reprimand me, saying my behavior was unfit and I should be turned out. Nothing new on her part, of course... only, now, Mr. Blunt was looking thoughtful as she said it, instead of slightly upset or embarrassed.

In truth, Trevor and Sean took turns with thrashings, and they were often encouraged or helped by others. Sean at least had the minimal reasoning of protecting his younger students, though I dismissed it as a thin excuse concocted by a feeble mind. I did little to fight back, feeling I almost deserved the pain. It at least gave me some feeling other than guilt at my actions, or confusion. Evil should be punished, be beaten, shouldn't it? What I had done to Jiminy was definitely not good. And if someone like Jiminy thought that I was a demon, even if it was solely because that foolishness had been pumped into him by a passel of ignorant others, it said something, didn't it? If I really was good, it would show - or else everyone around me was just as bad. Or blind. The uncertainty of which answer was the truth, if either, plagued my thoughts constantly, and it frustrated me that no answer materialized. I began to almost welcome the few moments of relief which came with the blackouts Sean and Trevor ever so kindly gave to me.

I grew quite fond of the snake, which I found out was a male (a strapping male, he informed me proudly). To me, he just looked like a garter snake, but since he was the only one who would talk to me, I didn't say so. He couldn't tell me his name, because apparently snakes kept their true names concealed with select family members, and we were not close enough yet, or something like that. He offered me the nickname Snicks, which I accepted. I stayed inside often. Locked away in the dorm room, safely out of reach of the others, I curled up with Snicks or a book. It was warmer that way, especially since I was underfed, nursing bruises and sprains, and had no warm clothing. And I wouldn't have to interact with anyone, which I had no reason to.

It was on one of these miserable afternoons that I was sitting cross-legged on a chair, shivering slightly as the drapes shifted in the breeze, rereading _The Wasteland_ with Snicks hanging around my neck, that everything changed.

The windows were open because the glass had been broken and left unfixed years ago, and often odd things flew in; insects, some birds, once a bat. Still, I was unprepared for the soft, cooing hoot behind my head. Snicks was first to shift, as I was absorbed in the poem and had no desire to move. Then I heard the fluttering of wings, and suddenly a small brown owl perched itself on the arm of the chair. It eyed me curiously, extending a stumpy leg with an envelope attached to it. It leaned forward, hooting and watching me expectantly.

My first reaction was to swivel my head to the door, searching for some sign that this was a prank. Not seeing anyone, I hesitantly but curiously reached out and took the letter. It was done on some thick type of parchment, and the handwritten address had an odd, loopy slant to it. It was addressed to: **_Mr. Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Orphanage Dormitory Without Windows._**

I had never received mail before in my life. Why would I? Why was I now, for that matter? I carefully placed the book aside and hurriedly ripped open the envelope and shook out a letter written on the same parchment, my hands trembling from excitement and wonder. Inside the letter it stated:

**_Dear Mr. Riddle, _**

**_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts_ _School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _**

**_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. _**

**_Yours sincerely, _**

**_Albus Dumbledore,   
Deputy Headmaster _**

_Psychosis seems a reasonable assumption, doesn't it?_ I thought to myself as I turn to the next page, which read:

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY   
  
Uniform   
First-year students will require:   
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)   
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear   
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)   
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)   
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name-tags**   
  
**Course Books   
All students should have a copy of each of the following:   
Standard Spells (Grade 1) by Martin Goshawk   
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot   
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling   
Beginning Transfigurations by Mordicus Wibclick   
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phylllida Spore   
Potions and Drafts: A Beginners Guide by Clamitus Hisserling   
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander   
Dark Arts Defense Techniques by Trip Arfittle   
  
Other   
1 wand   
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)   
1 set glass or crystal phials   
1 telescope   
1 set brass scales**   
  
**Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad   
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS   
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS**

I realized that I hadn't been breathing in awhile and sucked in great gasps. My mind was floundering as I read the pages over and over again, completely lost. _What_ were they talking about? What was Hogwarts - what was a magic school at all, anyway? My mind raced, stimulated but wary. Did it have something to do with those two people who had crashed the Christmas party?

I was still stupefied when Snicks slithered up onto my arm and read over my shoulder. "Ahh," he said knowingly. "You are accsssepted into Hogwartsss. Congratulationsss, it isss a very well known sssschool."

Immediately I turned and pounced on him (figuratively, of course.) "You understand what this means?"

Snicks looked at me as if my stupidity was beyond comprehension. "You don't?"

I shook my head. "I've never heard of any of this before-what is it?"

Snicks looked curious. "I just assssumed, "he began thoughtfully, "that you would know. It ssseemed obviousss. Well, Hogwartsss isss a ssschool for people, children really, who have great magical talent. It isss a place where they are trained."

It didn't seem real.

It_ couldn't_ be real, my mind decided. But then, neither could my speaking with snakes, or floating and hurting Mrs. Blunt be real. They decidedly weren't normal events. I'd always been told, though, that those acts were demonic behavior... "It's incredible," I said softly. "I don't know anything about magic!"

Snicks snorted. "What are you talking about? You possesss great capabilitiesss, even I can senssse that. I cannot think of anyone else who can ssspeak with ssssnakes."

"But that's just an abnormality, a-a deformity." Snicks began to look very indignant, so I quickly rephrased. "I mean, I always thought that, - well, I'd always been told that such things were because I was part demon. N-Not that I was-that I was-magical." I fingered my chain. "That things like that were wrong." I'd never wanted to believe that I was demonic, but a part of my stubborn refusal had belied a wondering of whether that label wasn't true.

Snicks looked very upset, his pale tongue flickering. "Who told you thisss? The people who live here? Do not lisssten to them, they do not understand. Ssssome people use sssuch powers for evil, but there are some wizsssards who do nothing but good."

A chill came over me at the sound of my new designation, and a smile spread. _Wizard_, I thought. The word brought exciting images that I'd read about to my mind; pictures of great, powerful figures who could control time and matter, who were wise and gave guidance, people who were - respected. Not evil, but valuable. People whose oddities had meaning and a purpose, not to be shunned but cultivated. Of course, the Blunts' wouldn't agree with such things; I'd had to sneak to the library to teach myself anything of use or find things of interest. And now, fantastical whimsy was made real.

"So you really think I belong here, Snicks?"

"Of courssse. Yesssterday, when the mop attacked Mrs. Blunt, you thought that was coincidencssse?"

The memory made me laugh. "I really didn't mean it," I confessed. "I thought everything I did was so wrong, even if I also thought it felt right. I never did such things on purpose. It felt good, of course, but - now -" I looked as Snicks, feeling my eyes flash. "You mean I can learn to really do these things on purpose? I can control them, use them when I want?"

Snicks looked a bit uncomfortable. "When it isss right," he counseled. "Not on a whim -magic is carefully regulated by the Ministry of Magic, and there are laws -"

"I didn't mean illegally!" I said hotly, feeling my face flame. Why did everyone assume the worst about me? Certainly, the thought of leaving Mrs. Blunt, Trevor, Sean and his goons somewhere in the Arctic Ocean to freeze, or zapping them into baboons, had crossed my mind. But what was wrong with dreaming?

Snicks looked apologetic. "Of courssse not," he hissed, and then slithered away. I didn't give him any attention, focusing my eyes on the Hogwarts crest. A huge relief welled up inside me, a feeling of freedom and lightness I had never experienced before. "I'm not evil," I whispered. Tears came; it was as if all the tension and adrenaline in my body was giving way, allowing emotions to come. For once I didn't force them away, and they didn't hurt.

I heard voices then, and quickly stuffed the papers under the cushion, trying to look inconspicuous. My hands were still shaking, so I clenched them in my lap. Sean and several others crowded into the room, including Trevor. I groaned inwardly. Even though Trevor had always made it a point to not associate with the orphan riffraff, he and Sean seemed to have bonded over their intense dislike of me. Sweet, wasn't it? I hurriedly brushed away the few trickles of tears, fighting back the humiliation of crying even though they didn't seem to have noticed.

Instead, they looked over my head and began talking loudly. Trevor said, "What is that stink in the air? It smells like something rotting - like some wimpy soulless skeleton has been sitting here rotting the air for real people."

"Shove it, Trevor." Subtlety, thy name was Tom.

Sean and the others formed a circle around my body, with Trevor standing right in front of me. His red face flared in haughty amazement. I hadn't fought back in so long, and never this boldly. He wheezed out his next words, trying futilely to sound enforcing. In fact, nothing about him seemed commanding, especially now. And I never gave credit for simple effort.

He roughly said, "What did you say, half-life?"

I stood calmly and looked him in the eyes. Although he was much more filled out than I, and my elder, we were the same height. I didn't raise my voice, simply saying, **"I-said-shove-off.** While it is such a clever bit, to pretend I am not here while insulting me, the subtlety wore off-oh--when I was two. I would say try to think of a new act, but I hate to smell the frying scent which taxing your brain tends to cause."

Was I asking for it? Absolutely. Trevor's eyes narrowed and he pulled his hand back, ready to strike. However, rather than taking the swing a dim light went off in his eyes. He backed off, smirking, leaving the others and myself gawking in anticipation. His entire face defined smugness. Folding his arms, he said, "Oh, that's very clever, half-life. You are_ very_ clever."

That was unexpected. I knew I was walking into a trap, but I was more curious than afraid. "Thank you."

Trevor looked like the cat that ate the canary - except he resembled a deformed hippo more than a feline, but I digress. He said loudly, "Of course, we can't give you all the credit for your cleverness, can we?"

I admit I was still intrigued, and I played along. "Well, I suppose I owe some of it to you all, for being such incredibly easy targets. I don't thank you nearly enough."

"No, that's not what I meant. What I meant is, you are possessed. A sick little half-demon. You wouldn't be anywhere near as clever or smart if you weren't controlled by that dark stuff."

The direction this was heading was no longer entertaining for me. Trevor and the others, on the other hand, appeared as if a second Christmas had come. I stayed silent, though hearing the fears in me being voiced was making me fidget.

Trevor did not let up. "Yes, demons can be clever, can't they? At least for tricky sayings and trying to hurt innocent, good humans. But you can't even be good at being evil, can you?"

"Stop it, Trevor, I mean it!" I threatened, feeling defensive rage boil up inside me, taking the place of the fear that he was right. I fought to maintain the commanding coolness I'd felt when first speaking to him after discovering my magic powers.

Trevor was remorseless and unrelenting. "Oh no, since you're only a half-blood, I bet whatever created that side of you is just as disappointed. Compared to others like you, you wouldn't measure up, even with your cleverness!"

"_That's it_." My voice was hardly quiet, sounding high but chilled. Without thinking, I held out my hand, willing with all my might that now one of those strange occurrences would happen. Turning Trevor into a toad, floating him out the window, floating myself--_anything._ Anything to prove that he was wrong. I shook my hand furiously, pleading for words to fly from my lips as they had so flawlessly before without a thought.

A moment went by, where nothing happened. Then, after everyone realized that I had failed to materialize anything, they all broke into uproarious laughter. It was mocking and harsh, and as the blood flowed to my face I stared at my hand. Words like failure, half-life, worthless, hopeless,_ thing_ ran wild inside my mind, turning my fear and humiliation into a frenzy.

"Riddle." Trevor's voice was slow and taunting, silkily low. I had to face him. As much as I wanted to bolt and never come back, I had to face him. I turned my sweaty, broken countenance towards his.

Trevor had never looked bigger as he clicked his tongue in triumph. "See? You're a pathetic excuse for a human, and obviously not a very good demon, either. You really don't serve any purpose for living, now do you? It doesn't matter where you live, anywhere would have given you up, being the plaguing burden to every society that you are." He approached slowly; relishing the way this slow torture twisted my face. He had me broken and defeated, and there was no way he would let this opportunity go by. "But we can fix that, can't we, boys? Fix it so you'll never be a bother to life again. No one would care, who even thinks you're alive now anyway? Do you?"

This last question he punctuated with an uppercut to my jaw. Still, I doubt I would have answered anyway; words had failed me, everything about myself had failed me. I lay there limply as they proceeded to kick in my ribs, grinning with each crack, slapping each other's backs with glee as more blood came out of me. The pain was overwhelming. Trevor lifted me so Sean could angle at my stomach and face easier, while others had taken wooden planks to my shins and knees. Instinctively I howled out, but it sounded base and unnatural even to me. As if the sound was raw and empty, inhuman. After a while, I didn't feel any of it anymore. I collapsed into the pulsing sensation I felt as my heart tried to continue beating. I didn't remember willing it to do anything. Time ceased to exist, and everywhere I was numb. Consciousness was fleeting, and I found myself welcoming the blackness, wanting to escape into my own mind rather than face the beating.

After a while it all stopped. I didn't even realize right away that it had ended, so hazy was my consciousness by that point. Eventually, though, I was pulled back to reality to find Trevor leaning over me. His eyes were passionately alive with the zeal that only seems to come from deep hatred. In a voice breathing malice he said, "You'd better find someplace else to be, half-life. Once I tell mum and dad what you tried to do, though you failed miserably, they'll be throwing you out faster than you can get the shit kicked out of you. You know it's true, you might as well leave before they call the police." He stood up, sniggering at his and the others' handiwork. In a voice dripping with sarcasm he said, "If you can, that is."

With that, he and the others left me there on the floor. Snicks drew up close to me, stained with my blood. He'd had to crawl through it to get to me after the fight was done. During it, he must have been hiding. All I could say was, "It's true." My voice was soft and cracked, and as I coughed, I tasted metallic fluid. I could not move yet, but soon I would have no choice. Where was I to go? I didn't seem to possess any magical talent after all. The letter was a fraud, a joke - a mistake.

And yet, I couldn't just lie there. I couldn't give up and do nothing but wait to be carted off. The humiliation and self-loathing remained, but it was partially tempered by the beating and an instinctive defensiveness that never fully left me.

Snicks waited with me, leaving only to fetch me the acceptance letter. I had no doubt that they would retract their admission once I got there, but I had no choice. Trying to see though the blood crusting near my eyes, I read the letter again, trying to reclaim some semblance of the joy it gave me. I listened to Snicks say that he couldn't guide me, that all he knew was that the train I needed to catch was at a 'platform nine and three-quarters', which he had heard from another snake.

Talking was painful. "Well, we don't have a choice, now do we? Why should anything be easy? We'll head for there."

A coughing fit overtook me, sending waves of agony though my broken body. I felt a chill sweep over me, and my voice shook as I whispered, "There's nothing here."


	4. Chapter 4: On My Own, With Some Dumb Luc...

**Chapter 04: On My Own, With Some (Dumb) Luck**

I lay there, time being of the essence and yet simultaneously having no meaning. Reason told me to move and I did so slowly, wincing from the questions shrieking in my mind. I couldn't understand what had gone wrong -other times I had sent Trevor flying down the stairs or had him begin to pummel himself. There had even been one time when he had collapsed on the floor in a fit of agony before me, while I muttered some strange sounding words. The details of that occurrence were blurry, and I didn't think Trevor remembered it at all. It wasn't a very settling memory for me, either, since I hadn't really been in control. My intellect hadn't been guiding me; no, something deep within me had burst out with an energy so primal and essential it had taken over. The only familiar thought during it had been one of self-preservation and anger. Part of my demon half, I had supposed. Yet it hadn't been done consciously, though I had wanted something bad to happen to him. And back then, before having any knowledge of it being magic, it had worked. Now, when I had wanted nothing more than to actively punish Trevor and them all, nothing had happened. I couldn't figure it out, and that troubled me to no end. 

Snicks began softly hissing, "We have to leave here. They'll be back sssoon."

I moved, but barely faster. A part of me didn't care. I was too deeply frustrated and confused. "I don't want to go to this school anymore. They'll only toss me right out again, like every place would. I can't do magic correctly, just look what happened!" The anguish in my tone overrode my petulant stubbornness.

Snicks looked curious. "Yesss," he agreed. "That wasss sssome powerful ssstuff that almossst happened."

Snicks was obviously blind. I glared at him, annoyed by his innocent look, and snarled. "What fight were you watching?"

"Yoursss. I am amazed that sssomething could ssstop you from putting a curssse on him. You ssseemed ssso determined, and I could almost sssense the energy leave you."

No, not blind. Snicks was obviously insane. "What curse? I didn't do anything!"

Snicks looked annoyed. "Why would I lie? Sssnakes sssense thessse thingsss."

A funny feeling came over me; I wanted to believe Snicks with every thread of my heartstrings. And, despite my natural skepticism, I did. It was a desperate bid for anything to latch onto. "I couldn't sense anything. Why would someone or thing stop me?" Then, a bit wounded, "How would they?" 

Snicks shrugged, and then said in a flippant ...flippant tone, "Maybe it wasss a guardian angel."

At that, I snorted. "Right, yes, a guardian angel. I know about those things. Aren't they supposed to keep you from getting the stuffing kicked out of you?"

Snicks looked wary. "Tom," he said slowly, "you looked ready to kill him, if you could. I don't know what curssse you were trying, but it might have been something seriousss."

"Well, it didn't work, and I haven't a clue what I said, so –"

"There'sss many reasonsss why it might not have worked. But the energy you gave off…ssssuch magic mussst be a very deep part of who you are." Snicks looked serious, and respectful. "You must learn to control thessse powersss, ssso it does not happen again unwillingly."

I thought about it. I truly, desperately, wanted to believe Snicks. Perhaps he was merely fooling me, but some stubborn bit of my ego latched onto what he was saying. I could recall feeling something odd when the strange things about me occurred. It was hard not to think I was the cause of all the insanity. Even when I'd been called a demon, it was for being able to do things others around me couldn't. That must have meant something, and maybe it truly was magic. The thought didn't really lift my spirits from the dismay, horror, and confusion over what had gone wrong. Even if I'd never been able to control it in the past, the thought that something had prevented me, or that I was maybe unable to act on command, still haunted my mind. In an effort to cover it up I said, "I don't really see what would be so terrible not having Trevor around."

Snicks looked at me warily, as if he couldn't tell if I were joking or not. "Think of what would have happened, if you had taken a life, even one like Trevor'sss."

I thought about that, too, as I mincingly got to my feet. "You're right," I finally conceded. "His parents love him, poor things. There's no way I could have sneaked out of this house and gotten away if I had killed him. And now, I have no choice but to go to school."

Snicks rolled his little black eyes and sighed. "Exactly. That is precisely what I meant." He shook his head. "You children, Tom, I don't know about you all."

I froze, and said to him very slowly and distinctly. "I am being serious. And I was never a child."

Snicks looked at me, cautiously and a little chastised. "I am sssorry, Tom."

I looked away, cautiously walking to my bed. In a snarky tone that belied ...belie my unsteady nerves, I replied, "And don't call me Tom. You obviously don't know _me_ well enough to call me by my real name."

Snicks answered, "I'm not."

I stared at him, my head whirling enough, but I had to ask, "All right, then what is my real name?"

Snicks got a faraway look in his eyes, and answered seriously, "Just a sussspicion…you're not jussst the Tom Riddle of here."

"Right. Of course." Something in what he was saying made me want to scream out in agreement. Inside I felt a connection to his declaration, and a need to prove it true. There was little of the Tom Riddle here that I enjoyed of late. I staggered about the room, trying to control the swaying emotions inside. Cautiously I tested my body - it was painful, but everything seemed to ...work. I was amazed I wasn't hurt worse, but after all that Snick had told me I wouldn't be surprised if I flew.

Snicks didn't seem to share in my churning emotions. He merely said, "We must get going."

"Right," I answered. It was relieving, to have his solidness. I fought to adopt it as I grasped my pillowcase. Quietly, I crept to the hallway and made sure everyone was downstairs eating. Then I raced to the back of the manor and made my way down the old servants staircase. This part of the orphanage had been sealed off years ago to the children, having been converted to the Blunts' private living space. Snicks was curled on my shoulder, and made no sound until I turned toward the Blunts' study instead of the door to the outside.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed at me, but I ignored him. I slowly turned the door and stepped inside, not bothering to light a candle. I went straight for the phony looking books, pulled one cover aside and revealed an ancient safe. I had been down here often enough to know the exact combination. I was excellent at sneaking around. When one was constantly regarded with suspicion, it became a way of life. "We need money, don't we?" was my only comment, and Snicks stopped at the steel in my voice. I reached out to it, placing my hand against its worn knob.

And I immediately screamed out it pain as the flesh on my hand was seared. I tried to pull it away, but it seemed suctioned to it, drawing some mystical pattern on my palm in a ferocious zeal. I felt as though my entire essence was being dragged through my palm into the vault I had been about to plunder. Coherent thought again left me as I bit my lip to silence myself. Finally I was flung on my back. Wrenching my hand in close, I dizzily examining it. A bleeding imprint of a wiggling white serpent grinning at me atop a skull with a beard stood out in a burnt puff. Blood was oozing down my arm, leaving its dark mark on me. As I stared in silence, the blood seemed to drain further and further out of me. Which side of me the blood carried, I wasn't sure. Slowly the symbol disappeared, wearing itself out until no sign of it or the blood was left.

Panting, I once again became aware of my surroundings. Snicks was frantic, hurriedly urging me on as he heard footsteps coming. Apparently my screams had been real enough. Jumping up, I raced to the vault, praying nothing would interfere. I cringed as I touched it, but this time the metal only felt smooth and cool, with nothing to deter me. I spun the lock around and hastily grabbed all the contents inside, shoved them into my pillowcase that I had brought along, and raced out.

I ran like I never had before. The freedom I felt was trapped by the distancing howls I heard at the orphanage. Every sound pushing me further, echoing inside. I could never go back; indeed, never would they let me now. But if I was caught I would certainly be punished, jailed even. They would find it an appropriate sentence for something like me. But the fear of that didn't override me. I stared at the bag in my hand, my breath pulsing through me as my heart beat violently against its cage. And I saw nothing but justice.

Several days went by as I trudged through England. My eyes soaked in everything about me with a sense of wonder and uncertainty. Buildings rose high, and streets were crowded. At Newcastle, the most I'd seen had been the inside of the orphanage, the short walk to the nearby church, or the library I occasionally sneaked into. The amount of all the people I had seen in my lifetime so far was surpassed in two days on the streets. Men in suits and women in dresses walked with purpose, and I blended in as much as I could. Everyone diverted their eyes from the recent ruins caused by the war waging in Europe, their faces flinching at any whistling sound I came to understand as bombers. I fought my instinct to stare at the destruction and follow along with the socially acceptable attitude of indifference or ignorance. For the first few days I failed and gaped at everything before jading myself enough. The wearing prospect of not making it to London on time was enough to make me forget everything external to my needs.

Snicks said he thought the station was in London… or Australia. I chose to believe London, to keep some measure of sanity and hope alive. I knew full well where the orphanage was. It was in Newcastle upon Tyne, far north of London. I was also good with directions, having years ago memorized the entire map of England and many other places for the sole purpose of knowing. Since I was also used to dealing with situations on my own, I was confident enough never to turn back. At first I was cautious of trying to get rides, because I was afraid someone would suspect that I had escaped from the orphanage and try to take me back. Finally though, I was too tired from walking with nothing to eat and drinking only muddy water that I could not manage. Sleeping outdoors even in the summer was harsh, as it rained a great deal, and I only had the one pair of clothes on my back to wear. I could have stopped somewhere to rest or shop, but I was too afraid to miss the chance to go to Hogwarts. September first was fast approaching.

The first evening I had counted the money I had taken from the Blunts. It was a small amount; I would have to be sparse with it. I worriedly asked Snicks if Hogwarts required a tuition fee. If there was, there would be no way I could afford it. He didn't know. There was also a strange envelope in the case, marked with ink that had the initials S.S. on it. I had torn it open, only to find copies of the files the Blunts had on me that I had read years ago. Curiously, there were now other letters. They must have been added to the safe after the Christmas party, though they looked just as old as the others. Perhaps Blunt had just moved them to the safe recently. One was from a woman to someone she called Salazar. The man seemed to be dead, but nonetheless she was pleading to him to watch over her and her son, even though she made it apparent that he had turned her down for help many times before. She was bitter in the note, a tad selfish at times it seemed, but her entreaties were heartfelt. It took me a second to realize that she must have been my mother, and I sucked my breath in. Her words. Her handwriting – the loopy scrawl was determined and passionate, in my mind. I went over and over it, drawing from it whatever I could. I pictured a woman with dark hair and light eyes. I had to imagine her that way, for I was the only reference I had to the way she might look. 

Snicks started to hiss at me. The morning light was dawning, and I had to move quickly from behind the inn where I'd slept, or I'd probably get into trouble. But I couldn't just yet…I was locked in a moment, trying to create a memory. A possessive anger flared at whatever might have caused her to be bitter. It melted away into uncertainty, and I stared down at my scruffy self. I had been told I'd killed her in childbirth. The midwives apparently saw me draw her life out to sustain my own. Intellectually, I knew this was ludicrous. And yet I couldn't help but wonder what she really had thought of me…if she had she even seen me or cared. I swallowed painfully, my throat constricted. I wouldn't be weak or emotional. I decided she wouldn't have wanted me to, anyway. It was easier to think of her as above most emotions than to wonder whether she hadn't had them for me. I focused on what I had come to know as important. She seemed strong from the letter, and smart. And she was magical…she had to be. Often enough I'd heard that she, herself, had been demonic. I felt my ego lift at realizing she had been misunderstood the same way. Even more so now, I had to go to Hogwarts. 

Other questions buzzed in my head. Why would the Blunts have this? Who was this Salazar?

I had anxiously reached for the second letter, which I could tell was from my father. This one was typed, so I had no idea what the writing looked like. It was addressed to Mrs. Blunt, asking her to take me in. It said that he could not save me himself. My heart dropped. Even though I had never seen him, a raw, smarting pain stabbed at me, for my own father had thought I was evil. It wasn't the first time that possibility had arisen. I had been told he thought me a demon. I had even told myself I believed it, for why else would he have left me? And yet, to see it finalized in writing - not even personalized but typed…my fingers curled, crushing the parchment. Anger welled up in me--I had never truly known the reason why I had been abandoned. The only thing I had known was that my mother was dead. Because of that, a part of me always assumed that my dad had been sick as well, or deceased, or financially unable to take me in. Regardless of what Mrs. Blunt said or what I intellectually knew, I had to admit a small part of me had hoped it wasn't so. I should have known – I _had_ known. Flights of fancy and longing were for children, and I chastised myself for falling for it. 

But in the letter I found that he funded a great deal of money to the Blunts. He had to have known they wouldn't use it for the orphanage. He had to have had an inkling about what kind of people the Blunts were. And if he han't, then he had abandoned me with perfect strangers. All because he feared me. He called my mother a demon, and said that he would pray that I be saved, but he couldn't risk taking me in. Apparently, it would devastate the others in his life. He seemed to try and reason this out with such intellectual detachment I felt ill. 'It was better if the child grew up with people who would be neutral to the situation, not having been betrayed by a demon woman who had born him.' A spiteful laugh came to my throat. _Wrong there, father dear. I don't consider the abuse and torture I was put through for eleven years because you abandoned me to be a nice, neutral haven for me. No, not much of a good childhood for the demon you spawned._ A bitter hate flowed, filling the old hallow spaces that before had held my impressions towards the man. The coward. 

I folded the papers in satisfaction, more prepared than ever to immerse myself in this new culture of magic so abhorred by those I detested.

I rose to my feet and continued on. And on, for several days. Finally I managed to get a few rides, but it always cost me some of the precious money. Although I knew I looked pathetic, I didn't count on anyone taking pity on me. I never expected that. One of the drivers couldn't even understand me, although I didn't find my accent to be so different than his. He said mine was a bit Scottish. That might have been true, because the orphanage was so close to the border. My mouth twisted downwards at any memory of that place, but I agreed just to be civil. He said he liked my accent, and that he would cut my charges if I sang songs to pass the time.

Well, I couldn't afford not to. Snicks sniggered the whole time as I willed a death curse on either him or the driver. But I must have sang fairly well, for he even dropped me off at the Kings Cross station. I paid him, and my voice was too hoarse to tell Snicks off, so I merely glared at him as I searched for the ridiculous platform number. Nine and three-quarters. Snick's told me it was somewhere between platform nine and ten, and I said that was a brilliant observation and trudged over there. I stood before the platforms, looking everywhere, but seeing no sign. I felt tears come that I hastily choked back. I was so exhausted at this point, my body aching from walking and little food or sleep. My feet hurt and I was chilled from my seemingly endless journey, and I _still_ hadn't arrived at my destination. Nor had I a clue what to do next. _I bet none of the other kids had to go through this,_ I thought bitterly. They all had someone to show them the way, but all I had was myself. And once again, that wasn't good enough.

Just as I was peaking in my bout of self-pity I saw a truly amazing sight that made me stop sniffling. A tall man dressed in outrageous clothing with piercing blue eyes and a calm expression actually stepped out of the wall between platforms 9 ¾ as if nothing unusual were happening! I blinked, looking around to see if anyone else found this odd, but it seemed no one else had noticed. Hoping I wasn't hallucinating, I ran frantically over to the man, placing myself right in his path and exclaimed, "How did you do that?"

The man's brow furrowed slightly. "Do what?" he said.

"Walk through that wall like that?!" I pointed behind him for emphasis.

The man's eyes widened a bit before snapping back to certainty, and he tried to walk past me. "You must be dreaming, son," he said.

I held my ground. "No," I said stubbornly. "I saw you." The man paused at that, and realizing I only had one chance I rambled on rapidly. "Please sir, could you tell me if you are from Hogwarts? I am supposed to go there, but I have no clue how to get to it - and I need all of these supplies, and I have no idea how to get them either! And no one can help me, or will help me -"

"No one was sent for you?" the man interrupted, somehow not intrusively. His brow furrowed again ever so faintly as I rambled on breathlessly.

 "No, sir, and I just want to go there, I can't go back, please, if you can tell me anything, I-"

"Hold on," the man said, smiling a little. His blue eyes, lighter than mine, twinkled a bit as he lowered himself to my eye level and grasped me by the shoulders. I paused, panting heavily, trying to fight back the well of tears that threatened to erupt again. I was not usually that emotional, but then I was on the verge of hysterics.

The man said, "You are to go to Hogwarts, you say?"

I nodded, forcing a calming not into my voice. I handed him my letter as proof. "Yes, sir. Here."

"Well, now, let me see." The man examined it. He read my name out loud. "Thomas Marvolo Riddle," and then looked away, as if trying to remember something. Suddenly his eyes brightened. "Ah, yes!" he said, turning back to me. "I recognize your name."

I was flabbergasted. "H - how could you?"

The man stood tall, a slight smile that held some pride evident on his face. "It is by some very good luck you ran into me. I am the deputy headmaster at Hogwarts, Mr. Riddle. I remember your name being on the new roster."

My eyes widened. "You remember all the names?"

A small snort escaped, sounding odd coming from him. "Of course I do! I remember everything important like that - except which flavor bean the pale pink color is. I always assume it is cotton candy, forgetting vomit is also that color."

I stared at the man, questioning his sanity. "Vomit beans?"

The man looked startled, then laughed. "Oh, that's right, Mr. Riddle! You are from the Muggle world - non magic people, that is. Well, never mind, you'll catch on quickly enough, you seem like a bright lad." He punctuated that with a gentle pat on my head.

I jostled out of it quickly, infuriated by his condescending tone. I was not like those other people - the Muggles. People like my father or the Blunts. And I hated to be treated like a child. I told him as much, my voice cold. "I prefer not to be talked down to or touched. And I have no intention of trying your vomit beans."

The man looked slightly startled and embarrassed, and a moment of silence ensued while we just stared at each other. Then he shrugged, his smile returning to easy, and said, "Very well. You do not know what you're missing with Bertie's Beans, though. I am Professor Dumbledore. I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts, in addition to being the Deputy Headmaster." While I was now questioning the intelligence of my outburst, my worst fear was confirmed when he added casually, "And I will most definitely be one of your teachers this semester."

_Of course_, I thought. "Great," I gritted out loud. I turned to Snicks, who was beginning to slide down my back. "Get back up, your scales are cold," I commanded, and Snicks, grumbling from missing the little heat he could get from being inside my shirt, slithered out. I turned back then to see Dumbledore staring at me with a look of barely concealed amazement and caution. I stared back, wondering what I had done now.

"Did you just communicate with that snake?" Dumbledore asked me a bit sharply. His long finger pointed at Snicks, who stared back offended. I glanced at both of them, than answered, "Erm, yes - he's not a pest though. Well, not most of the time. And he said to tell you he prefers to be called Snicks."

"You spoke to him?" Dumbledore seemed stuck on that.

I shrugged, not getting the big deal. "Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

Dumbledore finally stopped staring. Straightening up he declared, "No, Mr. Riddle, there is nothing wrong with it. It is simply…" he paused there a moment before saying, "An unusual ability, shall we say. Not many people can do it."

"Really?" I said, thinking back to the man at the Christmas party. He had said something similar to that, like he couldn't have caused me to talk to Snicks.

Dumbledore didn't seem to share in my curious enthusiasm. He merely said, "No one that I know can. Well, follow me."

His look was odd enough that I did not push him further, feeling I had ruined my reputation with one of my teachers well enough. _Good one, Tom, lets see how many people of the magical world I can alienate myself from! _My stomach sunk even while my mind was joking. The last thing I needed was to be a weird outcast with unseen strange abilities in a magic school.

Dumbledore led me across town, his pace swift. I tried my best to keep up, and I had long legs, but I was still practically running. When we drew up to a bar called the Leaky Cauldron I swore thanks, leaning over to catch my breath before being escorted inside. The inside was crammed with strange looking people, all wearing clothing similar to the long, loose swirls of bright color that Dumbledore was. I felt very out of place in my faded blue trousers and filthy gray shirt. It was extremely loud, and smoke from somewhere burned my eyes. I wanted to leave as quickly as possible, but Dumbledore became sidetracked and stepped away from me for a moment to talk to some redheaded man in a brown cloak and turban.

I tried to focus, but the lighting made me dizzier, and all colors seemed to spring forth. All of a sudden, one of the men at the bar turned, and I felt fright lock my body into place. I didn't see a face, but rather a serpentine mask encasing his countenance. Through a parting in his long black cloak I saw scars of the same symbol that had appeared on my palm encase his body, oozing and bloody. Only, the blood on him was green and silver. Suddenly all the men at the bar turned, bearing identical scars. Drones was the only word for them, their faces shadowed by hoods. They were chanting loudly in a screeching, rhythmic choral voice, bowing down to the man in the mask, who floated over to me. All he passed by screamed in pain, and the walls were covered in blood. He reached me and took my hand, shooting freezing waves of ice throughout my veins. All I saw was red liquid everywhere; it covered my body. He released me, and my hands then clenched the chain I wore. The silver was smooth and I thought I was caressing it, but it suddenly broke and began squirting blood over my face. Dark shadows floated above, forcing feelings of guilt, shame, remorse and fear inside me. I turned for help, only to see a child standing over me. A child smaller than me, with eyes that held nothing but pity and fear. Pity and fear for me. Or anger? I tried to walk to him, but the second I reached out to touch him –

"_Tom!_" Dumbledore was shaking me. I shook my head, trembling all over. I felt completely disoriented. "what -" I stared to say, but then my voice failed.

Dumbledore, when he finally came into focus, looked concerned. "You screamed, and then seemed to freeze. I've been trying to get through to you for almost a minute now." His voice, while trying to be soothing, shook slightly and seemed loud to my still tender ears. He gripped me, not tightly but to hold me up, but I still winced. His tone faintly commanding, he asked, "What did you see?"

I looked around. Everyone was staring at me, whispering. Some were smirking, while others looked terrified. A nervous and embarrassed feeling overtook me, as Dumbledore shook me again. "Forget about them! Just talk to me, Tom. What did you see?"

I turned back, feeling the disapproving gaze of all there looking at me. I had been part of the magic community for less than an hour now, and I was already being seen as a freak. No way was I going to make things worse for myself. I cleared my throat and said in my best lying mode, "I didn't see anything. I just haven't eaten in a few days."

Dumbledore looked suspicious. "Not eating made you scream?"

I nodded, trying to look innocent. "I've been living outside for days now. I just had a pain in my stomach. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

Whether he bought it or not, he seemed to accept it for the moment. Part of me, the still terrified part, wanted him to drag it out of me, but I knew I wouldn't tell. Dumbledore must have known as well, for he merely bought me something to eat, then took me out back. Without saying a word, he tapped the bricks in the wall in a special sequence, and miraculously they parted, leaving me gaping at the wonder that was my first encounter with Diagon Alley. All the while I felt Dumbledore's sharp eyes watching me

...


	5. Chapter 5: Riddlerific Wands and Slyther...

**Chapter 5: Riddle-rific Wands and Slytherin Sortings**

Diagon Alley was a festival for the senses. On the streets, vendors were selling all sorts of decorative ornaments and exotic foods that caught all of my senses by storm. Everywhere, there were people bustling about, excitedly clenching boxes and bags of assorted shapes. I was so entranced that I was able to set aside my earlier delusion as just that - a figment of my imagination - and observe the swirling activity surrounding me.

Dumbledore soon stopped, explaining that he had to go on some official business alone, but he first gave me clear directions as to where to head. I nodded impatiently, rolling my eyes as he offered to repeat himself. When I proved able to quote him verbatim, he finally left. My eyes followed his straight back as it disappeared into the crowds before I turned on my heel and headed in the opposite direction. I walked with Snicks down the winding streets, pausing to glance at the Pet Emporium's window display, but I knew I would never be able to afford anything in there. In truth, I never really cared for animals anyway, but my newfound powers naturally drew my attention to the dejected serpents laying in dirty straw before me now. After glancing at them I left quickly, not desiring to listen to the snakes cry out to me any longer and be utterly useless. Besides, I had Snicks to keep me company, and other things to focus on.

My first stop was Flourish and Blotts. I made this decision for a very good and well thought-out intellectual reason. I came upon it first.

Brushing any dust off my shirtfront, I then proceeded to enter and ask a frizzy-haired woman if she might help me. She nodded hastily, but was clearly frazzled by all the customers and barely acknowledged my existence. I looked around, noticing that several people had lists appearing similar to mine. They all seemed to know each other, and uncertainly I stood for a moment just watching them before determinedly turning to a bookshelf. I scanned the titles, picking out several history books, unable to push aside the nagging concern over how far behind I must be. This would mean I'd have to go cheap on everything else, but learning would be my most important tool for survival. It was a simple, cold fact I had already cemented inside my mind; if I couldn't make it at Hogwarts, I had nowhere else to go.

A heavy weight settled itself inside my chest, and I sternly told myself to stop thinking so dejectedly, for it did no good. Still, my thoughts rebelled, the worries resurfacing all through the duration of my stay at Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Prudently, I bought only the cheapest robes in basic black, but made a single exception of one dark green set that was on sale. Truth be told, I childishly might have splurged on them had I needed to, since I rather liked them. The material was soft, and they appealingly seemed brand new, though not finely tailored. Snicks told me that he had heard it was the color of the snake House at Hogwarts, which he fervently hoped I would get into since other snakes might be there. I didn't really know anything about the other Houses yet, but it was as cheap as the black dress ones on sale, so I agreed. At the Apothecary I spent little time, the man there being completely businesslike and efficient. He had all ten costumers waiting done in roughly that same amount of time, which I found vaguely impressive.

On my way to Ollivander's, I passed what appeared to be a sporting goods store, where a crowd of kids roughly my age was gathered excitedly around something that appeared to be a broom. I frowned a bit in puzzlement at them, my mind wandering back to the stares I'd received in the bar, slightly miffed that they would find _me _an odd one here considering the sight before me.

Finally I reached the sign that stated _Ollivander's__: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C. _Darkness was already beginning to fall as I stepped up to the door. Fervently I hoped that it would still be open, as much to get out of the rain that had stared as to get a wand. For some reason, the thought of possessing a wand filled me with a giddy excitement I was wholly unfamiliar with, as if then I would truly be a _real_ wizard. I knew it sounded ridiculous or childish, even in my head, but whatever actually managed to make me happy I was wholeheartedly in favor of. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside to find the place open but dark, seemingly empty.

Breaking and entering was not a new concept for me, and neither was stealing. However, I hadn't even a clear idea of what I should be searching for. As such, I dearly hoped I was not alone, even if it meant I would have to end up paying. Crossing to the desk, I called out nervously, "Hello?" No one answered, so I tried again, louder, "Hello? Mr. Ollivander? I -"

All of a sudden a wild man flew out from behind a back door, his hair a crazy mess of gray, mirroring silvery eyes that glistened in the moonlight. I let out a gasp and involuntarily stepped backwards, but the man strode forward and said, "Yes, boy, may I help you?"

I stared up at him, finding my voice. I tried to make it soft, so that he wouldn't ask me about my accent. Lord I stood out enough in those wretchedly dirty Muggle clothes. I didn't know how far the news of an escaped thief/orphan would reach, but to protect myself I had taken to trying to hide any connections.

"My name is Tom Riddle. I need to buy a wand, sir."

Ollivander's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Riddle," he said, musing. "I don't recall that name, and I always remember every wand I sell. Who are your parents?"

I forced my face to maintain its neutral position. "I don't know. I'm an orphan."

Ollivander stared back, just as uncomfortable. "Well, never mind. I know I've never sold one to a Riddle before. You get to be my first! Where are you going to school, Tom?"

"Hogwarts."

The man eyes brightened. "Going to Hogwarts, eh? Well, good for you! Alby, I got another one of yours here!" He waved erratically at me, but was staring over my shoulder.

I spun to see Dumbledore sinking into one of the chairs lining the dark walls. Apparently he was done with whatever errand he had been on, and the worried look in his eyes had only increased from the last time I saw him. I frowned. I was nervous enough, and the last thing I needed was Dumbledore breathing disapproval down my neck. But for once, Dumbledore didn't focus on me. Rather, he looked at Ollivander and said back mildly, "Quite, _Ollie_."

Ollivander cackled, nudging me with one of his cold, bent hands. "It's a treat to tease him, so easy," he told me loudly. I nodded, smiling flatly as I turned with impatience to examine the wands. I felt Ollivander's gaze continue to bear down on me, and then heard him call over to Dumbledore. "Doesn't say much, does he?"

At that Dumbledore cast an amused glance at me. "I do believe it depends upon what mood you get him in. He can say quite a lot, even without words. I think he's saying to you now what he told me earlier when I patted him."

My face flamed red with embarrassment as Ollivander looked at us peculiarly before taking my measurements, asking me next which hand I used. When I responded with, "left," he just nodded, but Dumbledore gave me another strange look. I could only imagine what it was about--I had been told that the left hand was a sign of sinister and demonic behavior. Many children were forced to write with their right hands, but I, being a demon, hadn't been made to change. Ollivander soon went in the back and fetched a box. In a moment he returned, presenting me with its contents. Overlapping his movement I heard a rustling in the back, and curiously tried to steal a glimpse behind the case to no avail.

"This," he told me as he handed over the wand, "is one of my newer finds. It's a young holly mixed with the hair of an elderly unicorn. Very good for charms, I'd reckon." I held it in my hand dumbly until Ollivander waved at me and exclaimed, "Well, give it a whirl. Don't look at Alby, he won't go marking you down for incorrect arm movements."

I tried to shake it, andof a sudden the wand burst into a thousand pieces, sending them spewing all over the room and causing us to duck for shelter. When I rose, I shakily asked, "Wrong combination?"

But Dumbledore and Ollivander merely stared at me in a stupor. "Incredible!" Ollivander marveled, stroking his cheek. "I've never seen a reaction like that! Never!"

Dumbledore agreed. "It was my understanding that a wand without affinity for the holder would simply fail. I have never known it to detonate as -"

"Excuse me," I said, feeling uncomfortably overlooked. They both turned, and I bit my lip before saying, "I'm sorry. I'll pay for the wand, sir. I--I don't have much money, but I didn't mean to break it."

But Ollivander merely waved a hand dismissively at me. "Not at all, my boy. I am merely stunned, not angry."

"Stunned at what?" I couldn't help asking.

Ollivander looked at Dumbledore, and then responded, "You see, it is very rare to find a wizard who is left-handed - it is usually a sign of great power, and they often have some unusual reactions... or, so I am told; I myself have rarely served a left-hander. I've heard on occasion of the wand overpowering a wizard, physically attacking he who is testing it. Other times, the wand is a perfect fit, but the connection between wizard and wand is so strong that its first interaction causes some form of destruction--there have only been two recorded cases in history of this, so we are not sure exactly what caused the occurrences. There is merely speculation to go by. And now," he said, smiling awkwardly, "We have a new story to put down."

_Fabulous_, I thought. _More destructive powers_. Out loud I said, "So I caused this?"

Ollivander looked torn. "Well, yes and no, I am supposing. The wand, obviously, was not for you. It might have wanted to be, because it sensed your great potential, but I believe your magic overpowered it. It couldn't handle what you gave to it."

"But I just waved it!" I protested.

Ollivander smiled mysteriously. " The wand knows to whom it belongs, and will not overextend itself to bond with another. I have never heard of a wand desiring to be with someone if they were not its perfect fit. You must have some magic to have drawn it to you, or fooled it in that way."

The room was then silent, as none of us could think of a thing to say. The rustling I had heard before grew louder, and suddenly another pair of boxes was hurtling straight at my face. The one on the left quickly and craftily dodged under its competitor and slammed upward, sending it soaring to the ceiling. Meanwhile, the left box sprang open as I stood rock still, unable to do more than watch as it thrust itself into my hand with such force that I fell backwards. Out of the wand, sparks of every color flooded the room, lighting all the candles with a green flame. All the boxes seemed to shudder, and I watched, mesmerized, until the muted havoc died down a moment later. I blinked, dazed, unsure how much of that episode had actually been real.

Sitting up, I curled the wand in my thin fingers. Beside me was the other box that, having lost the fight, flew disgruntled back to its place. Turning my head, I realized it hadn't actually flown back. Ollivander was sending it there, holding his wand out, a bemused expression on his face. Standing over me with Dumbledore at his side, he said, "Yew-wood and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches. I think it's a match." Stepping back, he let me stand up, trying to ignore Dumbledore's watchful gaze. Even I could tell what had happened had been unusual. Still, I forced a smile onto my face, said my thanks to Ollivander, and left, ignoring his parting calls of, "Please don't come back for awhile, I can't afford it!"

The streets were completely dark when Dumbledore and I at last stepped outside. He strode at the same brisk pace, and I struggled to keep up, rolling the carrying cart I had purchased. Snicks had found his way into my pillowcase, no doubt fast asleep. I felt ready to drop by the time we reached the station again, and was glad that Dumbledore seemed too lost in thought to converse . We paused before the platform, where Dumbledore finally turned to me.

"Tom," he said. "I can't simply leave you here unattended. It's far too dangerous, even for someone who managed to make his way here alone." He said this without accusation, but I still burned, feeling him turn my act of running away from a great show of independence to some foolish child's act.

"I'm not alone. I have Snicks." I raised the pillowcase to prove the point.

Dumbledore reassumed his neutral smile. I wondered where the sparkle in his eyes had gone. "I doubt he is much protection." He then sighed; I looked at him curiously, as this was the first time I had seen him unsure of how to act. He stared at me thoughtfully for a long moment, and then said, "but I don't know if I should bring you back with me -"

I felt my eyes roll, and did nothing to stop them. Impatiently I explained, "Look, there is an inn right over there. I'll go to it and get a room. It's only for one night."

Dumbledore didn't seem convinced. "It's not that I don't trust you, Tom," he began, and then abruptly changed gears. "I'll have Marie at the Leaky Cauldron check in on you. I'll send an owl when I get back, it won't be long."

"Fine. I shall curl up in a fetal position and cry until she comes. Or just go the bloody hell to sleep not caring less that she didn't. You suppose." The words slipped from my mouth before I could remind it that this was my teacher.

Surprisingly, the twinkle came back into Dumbledore's eyes at that. "You are a feisty one, aren't you, Tom? Well, we need some of all kinds in this world, I suppose." Then he turned stern again. "Promise me you will march right to the inn after I leave."

I crossed my heart, and with that Dumbledore bade me farewell and good luck, and then crossed into the brick wall. Again I glanced around, shocked that no one noticed this. I looked down the runway. The inn seemed awfully far, and I barely had any money left. I sat down to think, and just stayed there. It felt so good, to have a plan now, with a way to carry it out. I smiled with pride. This morning I had been crying and sniveling without a clue, and now I was on my way to become a real master of magic.

I sighed. I should have gone to the inn now, but I was too tired, the relief adding weariness to me. I decided that the odds of the woman Dumbledore would send probably wouldn't even really go. Maybe he would even forget to ask her; he didn't seem overly fond of me. Well, maybe he was concerned. But I would have bet the woman would prefer it if I wasn't there, she wouldn't have to go up the stairs looking for my room. My head drifted downwards, accepting this weak reasoning. I barely remember asking Snicks to watch the bags before I drifted off right there on the bench between platforms 9 and 10.

The next morning I awoke with a start, dread filling me at the thought that I must have overslept. I quickly sat up, looking all around me. I checked the clock, which read only 7:53 am. I breathed a sigh of relief, then gagged as a whiff of myself came back. I looked down and almost laughed, for the dirt and grime from living outdoors for days had taken its toll. I looked like the homeless person I was. Pushing myself up, I made my way to the dank public washroom. Amazingly, even having with my own unwashed body for days, the odors in the small, stifling room were worse enough to make me take notice and gag. I dared not even look in the toilet, just feeling relief that the faucet worked, if in sputtering dribbles. I quickly did as good a job as possible on my face, neck, and hands. There was nothing I could do about my clothes, but I figured I would be putting robes on soon enough. Once I got to Hogwarts I would find some way of washing these---and maybe replicating some.

Hurrying back to my seat, I waited with my nerves growing steadily wracked as the time went by. I read most of the extra titles I had purchased at the bookstore, trying to learn as much about Hogwarts and magic as I could. Finally I noticed some oddly dressed individuals coming my way. I stood up and lingered behind them, so that I could watch precisely what they did. Well, there didn't seem to be much to it; they all just ran head on. I waited till no one was looking, just in case I ran into the wall, took a deep breath, and went for it.

Before I knew it I was being sucked through, and came out to find a black and gold sign loudly announcing Platform 9 ¾ Hogwarts Express. Turning, I gazed at the hundreds of students and families milling about, crowding the small space. Everyone was jostling and laughing, and I let myself be pulled along with the crowd, feeling very out of place. I hurried onto the train, fumbling with my bags. Snicks had woken up and was demanding answers, but after the experience with Dumbledore I knew better than to answer him in public. I shuffled along, looking in every compartment. They all seemed crammed, and I desired nothing but solitude.

Finally I came to one that appeared empty, and flung myself inside it, closing the door behind. I leaned back, placing my cargo underneath, only to be startled by a drawling voice.

"What do you think you are doing?"

I turned and answered immediately. "Sitting here trying to mind my own business, but being forced to state the obvious. You?"

The boy across from me drew up at that, and actually smiled. "Listening to the first person to come up with a good response to that question all day. I suppose that means you're staying here. I'm Damien Malfoy. You?"

I responded, glad that there was no handshaking. "Tom Riddle." We both eyed each other, neither backing down. Damien was as tall as me, and also had a pale face. His hair was light blond and perfectly cut, and he was already dressed in expensive robes. His gray eyes were also sharp, and betrayed nothing.

He casually drawled, "I haven't heard of that family before. What do your parents do?"

I forced myself to smile. "I wouldn't know. I'm an orphan."

At that, Damien seemed a little embarrassed. "Oh," he said. Then brightened, as if trying to make up for his mistake. "I've read some excellent things about some of the magical orphanages in London. They have good programs for the kids there---did you study any magic before coming here?"

"I'm a first year," I explained. "But I have tried some magic." I had practiced some small spells at the bench earlier. Damien seemed interested, so I willingly levitated several of my books, and even managed to open our window with one flick.

Damien seemed impressed. "That's pretty good, I must admit. I can do that, of course, but I am in my second year." He looked at me curiously. "My dad taught me magic years ago, but you--what magic orphanage did you say you went to?"

I paused, and then tried to joke. "I didn't say."

Damien persisted. "No, really, you should try to get into Slytherin. You can't have had much training, but we could use someone like you. Raw, natural talent, your parents must have been very powerful indeed."

I was getting sick of thinking about my parents. I tried to change the conversation. "Yes, I'm really interested in Slytherin, it seems to be the best. At least, that's what I've read."

Apparently I said the wrong thing, for Damien pounced on me. "You hadn't heard of Slytherin before? Didn't you talk about it at school? You'll definitely get in, you remind me of myself."

I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, and finally admitted. "I didn't go to a magic school."

Damien looked perplexed, so I continued. "I was in a Muggle orphanage. I just found out about Hogwarts and everything this summer."

Damien stuttered, turning red. "B-b-but, you couldn't! How could your relatives allow you to be in the Muggle world! They're beasts!"

My voiced hardened. "Yes, some of them might have been. But my father was still alive, and he placed me there. He was a Muggle, so I'm told. I think my Mum tried to keep me here, in this world, but he took me and put me in the orphanage..." my voice trailed off and I didn't add that I had also been informed that my father had done so after my mother had died in childbirth, not really giving her any say in the matter. Still, I wished to believe that she would have acted so, however unlikely it was. I was torn over it, part of me intellectually reasoning that she should have done whatever was best for her, and another part of me hoping that what was best for her was also in my interests. And none of these parts inside wished to be shared, least of all with the thing sitting opposite me.

"So you're a Mudblood?" Damien's expression, which had been open, closed in distaste. I stared at him, not fully understanding the term. He kindly informed me. "I should have known after seeing how you were dressed. I thought you had been making fun of Muggles by wearing such shoddy clothes, or more likely trying to blend in at that station, but now I see they really are you. I'm amazed a half-blood had enough gall to talk back to me."

"Everyone has their moments," was all I could think to say. I was busy building up anger, storing it while waiting for an appropriate area to strike.

Damien, mindlessly, kept providing me with fuel. "I don't know how you did those tricks, Mudblood, but don't think you'll ever amount to a real wizard. And forget about Slytherin, we only accept _real _magic folk there. Purebloods." The smile on his face was that of a tiger having just cornered and quartered his prey. With a false shrug of sympathy he said, "Sorry, Mudblood." 

I felt a cold smile form on my lips. "We'll see," I said quietly. Meanwhile Damien, seeming disturbed by something, had fallen silent. I furrowed my brow as I followed his gaze to see where it had fallen. It trailed down my thin chest and arm, ending on my hand, which was still wrapped tightly around my wand. The entire thing trembling, small sparks shaped like teardrops in colors of ivy green and a sort of metallic-blue erupting out the end. I fought back my own curiosity over that, not desiring to appear unknowledgeable of whatever was occurring. Turning back, I gave a mock-innocent shrug to Damien, saying, "It's protective of me." Then I turned my attention to my books, looking up suddenly only to startle Damien, who finally fled the compartment in anger.

When he left, I resumed reading, trying to push down the angry lump in my throat while struggling not to acknowledge that a lump of panic accompanied it. If I couldn't become friends with Damien, who seemed to share - or at least tolerate - my sense of humor, what chance did I stand with the rest of the Hogwarts body? There wasn't a single fiber of my being that would think of leaving to return to the orphanage. At least here I had impressed people with my talent, which hadn't happened at all in my past. No, I would simply have to find some way of surviving in this world. Surviving...and thriving. I would settle for figuring out how to survive, first.

I stared down at the pages in front of me, my mind ceaselessly wandering. I wondered what caused Malfoy to hate the Muggle side of me, apparently as much as those at the orphanage hated the magic side. I couldn't exactly fault him on his opinion, even though it also burned that he directed that disgust at me. I fervently hoped that not all of my peers would be like Malfoy, having been avoided enough in my past life. Most of all, I hoped that neither side was right in their reasoning...but surely they weren't, I thought with a stubborn jut of my chin, forcing my chest to not constrict. No, I would, as always, prove everyone else wrong, if necessary, until everything eventually fit as I desired. I kept telling myself this over and over, trying to believe it.

The train pulled to a stop without any further incidences, and we all filed out. A loud voice projected over the incessant chattering, calling for the first year students to head toward the nearby boats. The voice, which belonged to a tall man with rangy hair who was the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, said his name was Mr. Wynn. He told us to head onto the boats, not flinching as the rain pelted his head. I also had become used to the rain, and walked over without much notice. Some of the others were already shivering and complaining. I sat in a boat filled with two girls and one male. The girls' names were Sandra and Bess, and both had sweet smiles and long brown hair. They talked excitedly about how both of their families had been in Ravenclaw, and how they simply had to be there. I nodded politely, not really sharing their enthusiasm, but they didn't seem to notice the difference.

The other male seated with us was named William Weasley - a family name, he explained - and the most notable thing about him was that his hair still flamed red in the night. He seemed nice enough, a bit of a goof-off who kept trying to tip the boat and send the girls screaming. Their racket was giving me a headache, but at least they didn't seem to care who my family was, which was a nice relief.

Before I knew it, we had pulled up in front of a huge castle, still looking magnificent in the rain. I had never seen anything so large, and the others and I sat looking agape at its splendor right up through the front doors. The entrance room was just as imposing, but thankfully warmer. We were told to wait there quietly before an enormous red door that lead to the dining hall and the Sorting. My hands wrenched a little as I thought about the ceremony. I had read about all the Houses, and the one that stood out the most to me was Slytherin. Perhaps it was because of Snicks, or that I could converse with snakes. More importantly, of all the Houses' characteristics, Slytherin's seemed to appeal to me the most. After all, real ambition and cunning, which the House prized most, called for a keen intellect like that of Ravenclaw, another House. And one had to be brave, as Gryffindor desired, to succeed in realizing one's ambitions. As for the last House, Hufflepuff, the only worthwhile characteristic I saw there was perhaps the virtue of patience.

So Slytherin seemed the closest to encompassing my ideals... but it was also something else, something deeper, which drove me to it. Though it seemed foolish of me, I could not help but feel as if I were already a part of that House, and what Malfoy said be damned.

We waited forever, shivering and dripping until finally Dumbledore opened the doors wide, telling us to follow him. As we hurried after him, we tried to take in the long elegant wooden tables, the glorious ceiling that was a replica of the sky, and the odd faces everywhere beaming at us. We all ended up crowded around before the raised platform where the teachers sat. In the front center was a stool with a weathered old magician's hat sitting on it. Dumbledore said that as soon as the hat looked inside us and found out which house we belonged to, we should go and join that table, becoming like family with them. He also said these words--which I found chilling, for he seemed to be looking right at me--"The hat does not lie; it merely sees what is inside you, good and bad, and sorts you accordingly."

With that, he turned it over to the hat, which startled all by springing to life and opening a tear in its fabric to sing. I stared at it, awed as everyone else. My mind turned to keenly wondering what enabled the hat to do this feat, and whether I would soon be able to do something similar. That thread of thought was immediately followed by the realization that making a hat sing was hardly a worthwhile pursuit of magic. Sternly I made myself focus, picking out the important bits of information on the Houses from the hat's rather annoying ditties

There was a round of nervous laughter and clapping, and I joined in to give my hands something to do. But the second the names began being called I held my breath, fingering my chain, waiting forever. I tried to pay attention. One of the girls on the boat got into Ravenclaw, the other didn't, and she was close to tears as she went to sit at the Gryffindor table. The Weasley guy got into Gryffindor too, and he breathed a happy sigh. Malfoy, over in Slytherin, also seemed happy that William had not been sorted into his House.

Finally, when I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my stomach, I heard my name called. It seemed to come from far away. Dumbledore was standing there, looking at me expectantly. I climbed up and slid onto the stool, my hands nervously clenched on my lap. I tried to ignore the hushed whispers around me asking who I was and the like.

All of a sudden a voice popped up in my head. "Well, this is certainly exciting! Haven't had one of you for a long time."

"One what?" I asked, feeling a little silly talking to a hat.

The hat didn't seem to care in the least. It said elatedly, "A challenge! How exciting - all right, lets see here - oh, what great fun!"

I gritted my teeth. People were already beginning to stir. "Just get on with it."

"_Oh,_ you've got a bit of a temper, don't you? Well that counts Hufflepuff out - like it was ever in for you, right? Ravenclaw is definitely in the running, you're a clever little bugger, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" I protested loudly, but the hat ignored me.

"But that's the problem, isn't it? You're a little too clever, a bit too hard to deal with to truly get along with them. They would become jealous of your intellect, and your superior attitude wouldn't help anything. Still, you could have some wonderful intellectual discussions with them."

"Wonderful, I'll take them out for dinner and dancing if I'm still alive by the time you're through!"

The hat laughed, taking no offense. "Oh, I enjoy you Mister Riddle, I enjoy you immensely. You have some nerves, you know that? Gryffindor would certainly appreciate that. And a strong will, too. You don't let anything stand in your way, do you?"

"I suppose," I said cautiously.

"Oh, don't try to be modest. I can see you for what you are."

"And what am I?" The words came out as a low, automatic response that held only part of my real question I desired to ask.

The hat didn't respond to that. "Oh, you're asking about Slytherin, are you? Well, let's check this out. Ambitious, that was clear from the start. And you've got a good handle of people as well, when you want to. Not much for rules either, eh? No, don't worry, Dumbledore can't hear. Well, yes, now that I think about it, perhaps you're a bit too - unconventional - for Gryffindor. I don't think they'd understand you. No, no... I can see it now, I don't know how I missed it - you belong in SLYTHERIN!"

I let out a breath of relief and slide off the stool, only to find the entire congregation staring at me. I heard a voice behind me, and Dippet, the old man who had been introduced briefly as the Headmaster, was clapping and saying lightly, "Congratulations, Mr. Riddle, that has to be the longest Sorting I've experienced!"

I tried to smile, but it didn't really make it. Meanwhile I heard someone at the Gryffindor table sneer loudly, "Yeah, no surprise a Slytherin would be the one to ruin the Sorting!" A brief round of agreement went around, loudly opposed by the Slytherins, which was only silenced by Dumbledore's glare. He turned from staring at me to the Gryffindor, who tried to sink into the floor. "That will be quite enough. The ceremony has hardly been ruined." He then turned back to me, his gaze thoughtful as always, but still putting me on edge. "Indeed, I have found that sometimes the greatest things take the most time to sort out."

There was a pause where our eyes locked, each questioning the other in our gazes. Then Dumbledore broke it off, saying, "Well, Mr. Riddle, what are you waiting for? Go join your House. Your time in the spotlight is over - for now."


	6. Chapter 6: Making Connections

**A/N – thanks to my wonderful beta, Wynne**

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**Chapter 6: Making Connections******

I strode down the shiny steps, making my way to the far left where the Slytherin table was situated. Sliding into the seat on the end I stared down, sucking in a deep breath of air before steadily raising my eyes to those seated around me. A few of the Slytherins gave me nods and guarded smiles, some a silently mouthed greeting. It was a far more reserved greeting than the rowdy one the Gryffindors were giving to their new members. A small girl whose name I didn't catch was just named one, and an ear-piercing cheer was heard as welcomers encircled her. I felt a disapproving frown curl my lips downward, and I noticed a similar expression on the faces of the other Slytherins. I'd never been one for physical contact, most likely because I associated it by then with a fist connecting to my face. Other than that, I couldn't recall being touched at all. In any event, my body was hypersensitive to any contact, and just witnessing such displays was making me feel like hyperventilating. I supposed the hat knew what it was doing. Clearly, Gryffindor wasn't for me, I decided with a satisfied shiver. I had made the House of my choice.  

The rest of the Sorting thankfully didn't take long, although it was slightly interesting to try to analyze each person that approached the stool. Once completed, Ravenclaw got the most students that year, followed by Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and then Slytherin, and I had accurately identified 71% of those Sortings. Once finished, I resumed discreetly studying the members of my own House. 

All of the Slytherins seated down the long table wore robes that appeared far more expensive than mine, each decorated with green or silver accessories as if they already knew where they would be placed. _They all most likely came from a long line of Slytherins,_ my mind whispered. Probably, they were what I had learned were 'purebloods.' I tested the word out in my thoughts, not thoroughly pleased with how it sat inside me. Trying to push down feelings of inadequacy that had begun to bubble up inside proved futile as my certainty once again wavered. How could the hat have placed me here? Certainly Slytherin wizards would never accept me. I didn't have any strong legacy to this House or the magical world that I knew of. A burning sensation rose from the tiny flint that always existed inside of me, sparking to a full blaze. Damien's words that I wouldn't fit in Slytherin came back yet again, but they were disheartening and didn't bring the self-satisfaction I'd felt mere minutes ago.

_But, my nagging mind reminded me, _would I fit in at any of the other Houses?_ The question spun itself about in my mind, exposing all its corners. My final answer was that it would be doubtful. Slytherin's traits were what I aspired to. I simply wasn't interested in being in another House, my mind stubbornly and determinedly latched onto Slytherin. _But it isn't my desire that's the problem_, I thought miserably. If it wasn't my personality that detained me from the other Houses, it was my half-life existence that barred me in isolation in the one I had deemed desirable._

Suddenly, I was shaken out of my brooding by the appearance of a supposedly sumptuous feast before me. Colorful china plates and dishes, decorated with unfamiliar artwork, sprang into existence. Goblets with the faces of magicians appeared as well, filled with a cool cider. Immediately everyone began reaching for the turkeys, rolls, and green vegetables, all shimmering in one sauce or another. I waited, inhaling the unfamiliar scents. At the orphanage, I mostly had bread and water, some porridge, and occasionally an apple or milk. The sudden shock actually made me feel a little queasy, but I placed some of the food onto my plate and toyed with it, using my fork. Unbidden memories tried to force themselves through—of the disgust of eating in the orphanage with its unpleasant smells, or how I'd often gone without meals as punishment, or had my food stolen. I'd taught myself not to want such things, to take away any pleasure such a punishment might give to Mrs. Blunt or the other children. The satisfaction that victory brought faded as another memory filled it, one that happened when I'd smelled food in the orphanage infirmary when I'd gotten locked in there. Being surrounded by plates of medicine and food beside sick, ravaged, pathetically wailing bodies that didn't want my help, and whom I had no desire to help; no desire to even touch. It was a disgusting memory that was always accompanied by a shiver of revulsion.   

I never really got hungry; over the years my stomach had shrunk into practically the size of a baby's clenched fist. In truth, I really didn't understand the apparent joy everyone around me seemed to get from eating. A part of me wished to just gorge myself from spite over how I'd been fed at the orphanage, but the thought of eating a great deal just wasn't appealing to me. Food had become something necessary to survive, but I really didn't see any need to take pleasure in it, especially if it made me as nauseous as I felt now. It was far better to not become attached to it, so I would never miss it. And it didn't look like I was missing much, I thought sourly as I sniffed the cream sauce in distaste. Every once in awhile I did eat some, praying I could keep the rich cooking down. 

Often during the meal I sneaked quick glances at the professors' table, finding my eyes drawn to Dumbledore. He seemed deeply involved in a conversation with Headmaster Dippet and an elderly man to his right. My gaze then narrowed in on this third member with whom he was conversing. Startling black eyes were the first things I noticed, and they matched his moustache and longish hair. He was dressed in a green robe with a silver snake emblem on the left corner of his chest, so I surmised that he must have something to do with Slytherin. Thinking back, I remembered reading somewhere that each House had a faculty member placed in charge of it. I couldn't recall any other details than that; I had been too preoccupied learning several spells to truly pay attention, but I was now determined to finish reading the book before classes began tomorrow. With that resolution in mind, I found my spirits rising slightly. I resumed my private battle with the food, engaging in slight bits of conversation around me. I remained mostly silent, gauging everyone carefully. 

Immediately following the meal, the dishes magically disappeared, as did the leftover food. Scarcely a beat went by before we were told to follow our House prefects to our new living quarters. I heard a commanding voice at the far end of the table, and turned my attention to it. A tall boy who looked remarkably similar to Damien stood up and announced himself.

"Welcome, new Slytherins. My name is Dashell Malfoy, and I am one of the prefects here. Welcome to the finest, most honorable House at Hogwarts. Please follow me immediately." We all stood on cue and rather sedately made our way after the elder Malfoy, who strode gracefully yet confidently out of the room with his robes swishing perfectly behind him. I noticed that he had not given so much as a glance at his younger brother, and Damien looked a little hurt through his façade. He caught me looking and tightened his face back into a sneer as we proceeded towards the exit. As we were passing through the doors, the rowdier Gryffindors tried to push many of us out of the way in their haste to follow their energetic prefect. I cringed as one young Slytherin girl got knocked down.

All commotion around us stopped, as the guilty Gryffindor scurried to help the girl up. She accepted his hand, muttering a low, "Watch where you're going." Craning my neck, I realized that the Gryffindor perpetrator was that Weasley boy, and he was now hiding next to his prefect as Dashell came over.

Each prefect stood facing the other, arms crossed. After a beat, Dashell spoke first. "Grover, can't you keep your charges in order? Perhaps if you set a better example, they would know it isn't appropriate to run throughout the school."

The other prefect—Grover, I expected—immediately spoke up in hot defense. "They're kids! I prefer to have some with a little life in them, as opposed to the upper crust stones you have."

Dashell smiled, not pleasantly, but kept his voice even. "I know why you hate me, Grover. And never worry; I don't much care for you, either. But let's not let that get in the way of our duties, shall we?"

Grover's face flamed, perhaps from the authoritative, almost patronizing tone in Dashell's voice. Still, I didn't think Dashell meant it as anything more than what was said. Grover countered snidely, "Oh, a change of heart, Dash? What, is a teacher nearby that you need to suck up to? Teaching them right from the start how to betray friends and manipulate people."

At that, Dashell's voice hardened. "Let's leave the past out of this, shall we? Honestly."

Grover said, "I'm not talking about the past. It isn't always about you, you know." He pointed at the girl who had fallen and said accusingly, "She fell down on purpose!"

Dashell raised his eyebrows and said in a drippy sarcastic voice, "Yes, because she would gain so much from doing that. The evil mastermind." He seemed to struggle for a moment, then his voice lashed out to match Grover's. "If anything, your little Gryffin-ape pushed her down on purpose! I should go and report both of you to Dippet."

I looked at William, feeling slightly bad for him, but by far I was simply more annoyed with the entire ordeal. "I personally don't think either of you are correct," I said.

The moment the words came out, both of them turned around to face me, giving me a look that made me certain I should have phrased that differently. I added quickly, "I mean, I was walking right behind her, and saw everything. You both were leading, and couldn't possibly have seen, so I thought I should tell you. He tripped and fell into her, and she wasn't even looking. It was an accident." I turned and tried to give William an encouraging smile, but was met with anger on his and several other Gryffindors' faces.

William flushed and sputtered, "I did _not_ trip! Everyone was pushing everyone else. I've heard about you Slytherins, so I'm not surprised you won't take the blame for your doing!"

I stood stupefied for a moment, wondering if this was the same silly, warm kid I had met on the boat. Could he really be embarrassed enough to lash out like that? My mind was incredulous over his accusation, and found looking at him anymore distasteful to say the least. Glancing around, I noted that several of the Gryffindors were giving me sympathetic looks, but most of them appeared as uncertain as my fellow housemates.  Equally unsure, I didn't even react when Dashell put his arm around me and warned Grover, "Let's just forget this. Grover, get your herd out of here, before I really get bothered." Eyeing each other down, Grover and the Gryffindors finally exited, and Dashell turned to face me. His expression was guarded. "What did you suppose you were doing?"

"He's a Mudblood!" Damien said loudly, waving for his brother's attention. 

Dashell briefly shot him an annoyed look, and then refocused on me. He stared at me intently, and then said, "I understand why you did that, then. You didn't realize how futile it would be." Straightening up, he continued, "The Gryffindors…well, most of them rather dislike us Slytherins. More so than the rest of the Houses. And I can't say the feeling isn't mutual." His face dropped into a frown as he continued. "Grover certainly doesn't help that. But you have to understand that this is your House. This is where your loyalties must lie."

"I didn't think I was being disloyal," I responded  evenly. "But seeing his reaction, I certainly won't try to help him again." My eyes remained on Dashell the entire time, struggling not to show that I was still slightly unsure of him. 

Giving a slight smile, Dashell said, "I wasn't going to get anyone in trouble that didn't call for it. Grover was asking for it—I only threatened that other child to put Grover on edge and make him step forward, apologize, and leave. If he hadn't and had let me turn the kid in, that would be his fault, wouldn't it?"

At that, I paused to think. It had been a long time indeed since I'd dealt with an ethical question of any merit. Finding no fault in his argument, I said, "Next time I won't be so quick to stop you. I haven't had much experience with people who think and plan outside the level of a toddler."

A genuine smile stretched Dashell's lips, and it was fuller than his last. "I'll take that as a compliment…Riddle?" I gave a quick nod, and he went on, nodding back. "Riddle. Well, I think you'll be a fine addition to our House." And with that he swept away, his long cloak swirling behind his tall frame, leaving Damien glaring icily at me. Right then I couldn't have cared less, as I was watching the back of the first person I had ever felt any measure of real respect for in my life. Silently I fell into step behind him as he led us down the winding corridors of Hogwarts.

The Slytherin rooms were apparently located in the dungeon, which I personally found to be fitting. They were remote and secretive, and had the only staircases that didn't move leading down to them. That was a relief to note after dismaying at the many levels of stairs changing before me as we made our way to our House. I wondered frantically if there was a pattern to the changes, even more determined to read everything I could before classes began.

I looked about everywhere, genuinely intrigued by sights I'd only reading fantasy before. On the walls were pictures that literally moved, and I stared in fascination at them, at every one of them that I could until we paused. A smile came to my face as I realized we had stopped in front of yet another one. In this picture was a young woman dressed ravishingly. She spoke in a low, seductive voice to Dashell. "Password please, my lovely young suitor, in order to enter my abode."

Dashell rolled his eyes, and said, "Hello, Ms. Tress. Lavishious."

Ms. Tress responded to the nonsensical word, swinging the barred jail doors open. In a sultry voice she crooned, "Right again, my dear Dash."

As we entered I breathed in musty air, cold and with a hint of wax. The dark stonewalls dripped, leaving small puddles on the dark green carpet. A brilliant silver snake was curled on the center of the rug, and around it were pieces of black furniture. A comforting fire was blazing in the fireplace, rimmed with carvings of serpents and dragons. The furniture was trimmed with silver edgings of a similar nature, and there were paintings of famous magical history scenes covering the windowless hall. Two separate staircases led downward in the far corners.

Dashell turned and said, "Remember the password to get in here, and _don't_ give it out to anyone. Ms. Tress - well, just put up with her. Smile and be polite, or else she'll think you're coming on to her by playing hard to get. Anyway, the boys' dorms are to the left down the stairs, girls to the right. You'll find your belongings down there as well. Once you all are settled, come back out for a brief meeting, and then we'll call it a night."

Everyone scattered sedately to listen to his orders. As I walked down the stairs, I kept noticing the odd looks people gave me. They seemed torn between hating me because of what Damien had said, and approving me for Dashell, who was in charge and seemed to accept me. I found their uncertainty less than appealing, not desiring to be accepted simply because of someone else. I swallowed an angry pang, telling myself that I could care less of they all hated me, but they might at least have had the courtesy to speak with me and find out if I really was as dreadful as they thought. Chances were, they would be right anyway, at least in the mood I was falling in. 

Deciding to indifferently ignore them, I silently found my bed, empty except for my pillowcase, books, and Snicks, who was now curled up on my pillow. He gave me a nodded greeting, flicking his tongue around excitedly. I smiled back, a rush of relief that he was here filling me. "We made Ssslytherin," he remarked proudly, and I nodded, and then motioned for him to be quiet. He rolled his little black orbs at me and slid off the bed, muttering a quick, "I'm going exsssploring, sssee you later," and then he slipped out through a crack in the wall. I stared after him, half-relieved one of us felt secure here, but a bit angry and anxious to be suddenly left alone again. 

Everyone else was busy unpacking, and the noise made me begin to do the same. Malfoy was on one side of me, trying to pretend I didn't exist. To my other side was the wall; at least I would have privacy. I tried to look inconspicuous as I alphabetized my books on the small shelf, and then hid the remaining money and letters I had gotten from the Blunts' safe under my mattress. Having nothing left to do, I exited the dormitory and made my way back to the common rooms. Dashell was already there, seated in a large pillowed chair covered with a velvety green draping. He was looking intently into the fire, and only turned to look at me when I paused across from him, my motions uncertain.

"Well," he said, smiling slightly. "That didn't take long."

I shrugged, and then replied tentatively, "I don't have many things."

"He doesn't have any things, he means," a familiar and unpleasant voice said behind us. I whirled around to glare at Damien, who had framed himself under the arching doorway. Clearly striving to appear superior, he strode over to face me, glaring. "Not surprising that the first one to sell out our House would be the poor Mudblood. They have no sense of loyalty, the lot of them." 

"Ah, leave off him, Minnie," Dashell said, looking more amused than anything. "He didn't know any better."

Damien flushed angrily. "Don't call me that!" he glared at his brother. "And of course he doesn't know any better, he shouldn't be here. There are plenty of other first years that need a prefect, but you're going to waste all of your time on him, aren't you? Father would be furious, if he knew."

At that Dashell's eyes flashed but he said indifferently, "I imagine he would. But unless you want me to report to Father with all of your stunts over the years, I think you'd best leave this alone, don't you?"

Damien folded his arms, still glowering. "I have never done anything against Father's wishes."

Dashell let out a small laugh. "Even if that were so, you think that would stop me? Please, simply exploiting the truth would be beneath me. No, keep pushing me and I'll come up with something more interesting to tell him." They stared each other down as I stood in between them uncertainly. The family picture by Crevanti back at the Blunts was apparently as much a myth as it was here. Damien finally stomped off, and I turned back to Dashell. Surprised, I didn't see triumph or anger on his face, only a trace of sadness. He caught me looking and quickly covered it up.

"Well," he said, trying to give me a natural smile. "No one said this was an easy House. Only the best." He must have seen the embarrassment on my face as I fingered my chain, tracing the torn strips of my shirt. His eyes looked me over, as I stared down, unable to meet his eye. Normally when people examined me in such a way I stared right back at them, but for some reason in front of Dashell I couldn't call up any heated façade, only the shame I felt. I waited there, watching the worn tops of my shoes, until he finally spoke.

"Well, I'll say one thing. You must really have wanted to come here." Hearing his quiet words I looked up, praying he was not mocking me. All I saw was a glimmer I hoped was respect in his eyes as he continued. "Most who come here don't have to work for it—especially in Slytherin. But to drop everything and just come here where you knew nothing, that decidedly takes something. Damien said, though not admiringly, that you never even heard of magic before, nor had anyone to guide you. But, you made it here." His focus was centered on my eyes, and he did not appear to notice the ancient clothes or dirt caked skin that clothed me. Directly to me he said, "I respect that."

My heart, which had been caught somewhere between my throat and stomach all this day, all my life actually, finally beat with enthusiasm. Warmth rushed to my face and limbs, not from humiliation or anger, but for once from happiness. I couldn't tell him that I had had no choice in coming, that I could not go back—I needed that look in his eyes to stay, at least for the night. The gaze of respect not forced from fear, nor cased in disgust. Respect and approval from someone, the _first_ one, whom I felt the same about. 

I muttered a small, "thank you," as the others filed in. Sitting awkwardly down on one of the sofas, I tensed as four other people crowded in next to me. I tried to focus ahead, ignoring the chattering around me. Finally when everyone was settled, Dashell stood up and began his speech.

"As I said before, my name is Dashell Malfoy, and I am the prefect for Slytherin House. I am a fifth year here, which means that come time to take the O.W.L.S., you will not want to annoy me. I am also the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, so if anyone has any questions about that, just see me later. No first years on the team, sorry, but you'll have enough to deal with." At that, his expression got serious.

"As most of you know, the magical community is in the midst of a very difficult time here. With the rise of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, London's entire branch of the Ministry is on defense. Hogwarts is a place of constant concern, because we hold some of the finest upcoming magicians, as well as the likes of Dippet, Dumbledore, and the other teachers. I won't go on with the details now, because I'm sure many of your families have talked about this to death with you. Just know that at certain times, places within Hogwarts and the surrounding areas will be prohibited, like the Forest. Please obey that rule, it is for your own protection. Also, in light of this difficult time, I will always make myself available to anyone who has any concerns. Unless, of course, its close to O.W.L.S. time."

A brief titter rang out at that, to try to alleviate the tense conversation. Dashell smiled, but his eyes looked worried as he continued. "Also, I just want to say that being in Slytherin House is a very big honor." He waited for the cheers to die down before continuing. "This House, and its founder, have proved to be outstanding wizards as well as valuable members of society. However, there are always the few who will proclaim that Slytherin produces nothing but Dark wizards, even here at school, I am afraid. Please ignore these insults, as they are unfounded. If anyone gives you a hard time, please remember that they are uneducated. If that doesn't work, zap them." He grinned, as the first years all laughed and clapped. "You know you can, you are the best of them all, because you were placed here. So welcome again, have a great first year at Hogwarts, and win us some points!"

With that rousing ending, we all cheered again, only to groan as he sent us to bed. I waited, letting the crowd head in before standing up to follow. Dashell stopped me. "Riddle?"

I turned around, hoping I hadn't done something wrong already. But Dashell only said, "the best way to prove yourself to them is to be better than them. It never fails." 

I nodded. "That's been my motto all of my life." Then I turned back and headed for the dorms to finish reading. 

I felt cold seeping though me, but it seemed to be starting from my insides… slowly spreading down my limbs, sliding through, pulling my attention to it. I turned, only to find my pillow dripping with an unidentifiable liquid. I tried to push myself up, but my limbs weren't controlled by me anymore. Panicked, I looked around frantically for a face, anyone to call out to. Darkness surrounded me, and in the black I heard a hissing sound. I cried out, hoping it was Snicks, but then orbs of red began to glow, creeping closer, inching their way towards me. I struggled back, pinned against the wall, my arms flailing. I held my hand out to ward them off, and then in the red backlight I saw throbbing objects pumping up my arm. Terrified, I yanked off the blanket only to find the same long, sliding objects crawling throughout my body under my skin. The pain was incredible, filling agony with every inch the crept. I tried to pull my skin away, to expose the creatures welling up inside me, inching towards my head. The red eyes drew closer, reaching me as large snakes with dripping fangs plunged them into me. As the creatures in me reached my head I screamed for help that never came. I began retching, vomiting up snake after snake that then proceeded to bite me, injecting venom further into my veins. I was paralyzed, though a voice was constantly telling me to run, that I was letting it all happen to me—the voice was accusing me, refusing to help though I pleaded, as I never had before. The voice was familiar, and in my agony I called upon it to reveal itself, which it was about to, if I could hold on, but the pain was too great, and I disappeared into it, submerging under the violent attack, my shaking, sweaty hand still reaching upwards—

I gasped, jerking upright in my bed, my white hands shaking as they grasped the history book so hard my knuckles cracked. My breath heaving, I twisted around, searching for the red eyes, the menacing voice and cackling of my own shrieks. All I saw was the cold dorm room, filled with just-rousing students. I swung my legs around and sat up, placing my aching head in my hands. The book fell to the floor, to the page that I had gone over again and again the night before. A pale man towered in the picture, his dark eyes cold and commanding—the caption under it read 'Salazar Slytherin'—the founder of my House. His face drew me in, and the name I recalled hearing somewhere important. I tried to think it though as I had pondered last night, to forget the dream still pulsing through me—then I quickly realized what I was wearing, and flung the covers back over me again. I had no change of clothing, and I had planned on waking up earlier than everyone else and quickly throwing a work robe over my old outfit. Unfortunately, I had fallen asleep sometime after five, and then I'd had the terrifying dream that I could not rouse from even though I remembered trying. 

My mind circled frantically, wondering how I would now accomplish the clothing feat. More importantly, how was I going to do this every day? Surely I would need additional garments, more for hygiene's sake than fashion. Growing up around dirt and filth, I had acquired an intense dislike for anything unclean. It had been torture to go through these past weeks, living on the streets and saving the money, but it had been necessary to get here. Still, the memory made me cringe. I couldn't even rinse anything I'd worn, because I didn't have anything else to wear while they dried. I wouldn't live like that, I decided firmly, biting my lip. Perhaps there was a spell?

As I worried over this, the other boys had all finished getting dressed and passed by me without a word. A few gave me nods of greeting, but most appeared too wary or too sleepy for words. The exception of course was Malfoy, who sneered "lazy Mudblood," to me as he passed. I watched, making sure all had left for the dining room, then stood up, slipped the thin work robe over me, and hurried to follow the group.

The dining hall was just starting to wake up. Most of the Ravenclaws were already seated, reading ahead in their textbooks and talking excitedly about classes. The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables were still fairly empty as the Slytherins ambled in. I sat again at the end, so I wouldn't have to be surrounded by others, and tried to avoid any unnecessary contact. Food magically appeared before me, and again, it was smothered in some gravy or butter. I toyed with it, absently fingering my chain, when a voice next to me spoke. 

"You're not from the magical community, are you?" The voice had a musical lilt to it that was faintly familiar, but the words still froze me. I turned my face to its owner, who saw my expression and quickly added. "Neither am I, actually. I'm a Muggle-born, as well." It was a short, thin girl who wore the markings of a Ravenclaw. I stared at her, wondering what she was doing at my table. 

"What makes you say that?" I responded as the girl—incredibly—took the seat beside me. She pointed at my chain, which I was wearing outside of my robe. I quickly stuffed it under, blushing, as she said in a normal voice, "Don't see many of those markings around here. Don't worry, most people here won't even know what it is, unless they take Muggle Studies." She tossed her hair back, revealing a Star of David on a chain around her throat. I recognized it from a book I'd perused at the library near the orphanage. Occasionally I'd sneaked away there at nights, the sole benefit for having windows with no glass and trees growing outside them to climb down. 

My focus drifted from her necklace back to her face. I found her smiling at me, a toothy smile that grew as she spoke again. "It's good to take something from home with you, don't you think? Something to remind you where you came from."

"No!" I found my voice rising as I quickly denied her statement. "This cross means nothing to me. It never meant home for me—and I—I don't wish to be reminded where I came from!" I was almost trembling at this point, embarrassed by the crowd my outburst had drawn. The hysteria fading, nerves rattled from my nightmare and the current scene I'd caused, I hastily moved to take the cross off when the girl's hand gently prevented me. She looked apologetic. "Please don't take it off because of me. Symbols like that, and wearing them, mean something different for everyone. Home is just what mine reminds me of—you must have a good reason to keep yours on, too. Even if you don't know it right now."

I stared at her, as the voice of Dashell called across the room, "Baker!" The girl turned and gave Dashell a smile, then said to me as she rose, "That's my name, Gail Baker. I have to go sit with Dash—he's my boyfriend and we haven't seen each other all summer! Take care, and again, I'm sorry." She flashed a smile and was off to the other end. Dash greeted her warmly with a kiss, and I noticed the disgusted looks on many of the Slytherins' faces, as well as on those seated at the Ravenclaw table. All the while my hand never left my chain, fingering it uncertainly as owls began to swoop over my head. 


	7. Chapter 7: A is For Ambition, L is For

**A/N – Again, many thanks to my incredible beta, Wynne, for all her ...work and support in making this fic what it is. It wouldn't have happened without her.**

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**Chapter 7: A is for Ambition, L is For -******

The owls scattered across the room, dropping letters and parcels into all of the students' hands. I perked up, not in expectation of receiving mail, but because this was also apparently the time of day when class schedules were delivered. Reaching up, I caught the letter a little black owl dropped over my head and hurriedly tore it open. On the inside, the following classes were scrawled out in the order I would be taking them: Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions and then Flying. The classes switched off daily, leaving Charms, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic for the following day. They also offered specialty courses for upper level students taught by faculty or guest instructors, a new and experimental addition to the curriculum. 

Enthralled, I studied the paper closely, not lifting my head until I heard a groan coming from next to me. Briefly glancing up, I noticed it was a large boy with a lisp whom I had met the night before. My memory took little time to recall his name. Randy O'Connell. He must have noticed my gaze, for he turned to me and said, glowering, "Why did we get stuck with the Gryffindors for so many classes?"

I paused at his question and looked back over my schedule. Each of my classes had another House paired with it -Transfiguration, Potions, Flying, and History of Magic were all with the Gryffindors. Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms were with Ravenclaw; Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures were with Hufflepuff. I shrugged, not overly concerned. From what I gathered through studying the interactions around me, none of the Houses liked Slytherin much, so what would it matter which House was glaring at us? 

I said as much to Randy, who replied, "Gryffindors don't just hate us, they go out of their way to make our lives miserable. It's an old feud - they can't just leave it that we think differently." He sniffed in condescension, adding, "Sure, some of the Slytherins start stuff with them, but generally we'd prefer to have nothing to do with them." How true that was, I didn't yet know, but I kept silent. He then lowered his voice a bit, adding into my ear, "And awhile ago, some graduate of Slytherin killed a Gryffindor grad who had children going here. House rivalry got worse after that."

I soaked up the information, again not replying, letting Randy go on. "But they all act so high and mighty, especially now that they've won the House cup the last ten years or so." The jealousy in his voice was apparent as he grumbled, "Miserable unforgiving gits." He looked at me for confirmation. 

It was time to head for class then, so Randy and I parted before I had a chance to respond. He leaped from the table to hurry to Transfiguration, saying quickly, "That was my Mum's best class - she went here, you know!" I headed out of the Great Hall more sedately, having seen that the teacher was Dumbledore.

The corridors were confusing, seeming to have changed shape from last night. I had read that this was part of the charm of Hogwarts, but I personally found it annoying to memorize. I followed a group of peers down the winding halls for what seemed like an eternity before reaching the Transfiguration classroom. A bit out of breath, I paused in the doorway and scanned the ornately decorated setting before me. It might have been vast, but was so stuffed with shelves around the edges that it felt crowded and small. The furniture itself was simple, with wooden desks and chairs all facing one large oak desk. I slid into the front and center seat and looked around. On the teacher's desk were a heap of matches and various books. There were also maps hanging haphazardly on the walls where small boats continuously made routes to places like Dragon Flight Peak and Bludgeoned Phoenix Island. What looked like a fish with fur was spouting pink bubbles in the corner of the ceiling, letting out a sweet smelling aroma. It was odd and intriguing, yet somehow still reminiscent of classrooms I'd read about.  The only difference was that here, in person, it seemed much more fantastical. Having never been to a real school, I couldn't deny a small rush of excitement and nerves. All that was missing from this setting was the teacher, an addition I had yet to decide would be an improvement or not.

On edge, I kept glancing discreetly about me, noting that nobody sat still. Everyone was twisting slightly, nervously clenching quills or whispering quietly. Their apprehension let me breathe a bit easier, and I neatly set up my own quill, ink, paper and book before folding my hands in front, fighting to appear calm. At exactly nine Dumbledore strode in, clutching many parcels of paper and a triangular shaped book that kept changing colors. He thumped the handful onto the desk, a grin raising the corners of his mouth upwards as he paced the length of the desks in front. His eyes met with ours as he said the next instructions, landing last upon me.

"Transfiguration is perhaps the most difficult subject you will learn here at Hogwarts, and no, I am not just saying that because I teach it. Many magicians spend their entire lives studying it and still cannot master the full scope of the subject. Those who claim they have are likely misinformed as to what could truly be achieved." His gaze coming to rest on me, he finished, "but I am not here to discourage you, merely to assist you all in escaping the frustration which can result from expecting the wrong thing. Remember, effort counts more than anything." His eyes then settled on the girl next to me, who was trying not to fidget nervously. Giving her a small nod, his eyes sparkling a bit, he added gently, "and a measure of good cheer won't hurt." She stilled at that, managing a weak smile back. Giving her a final nod, he then addressed the rest of us again. "Any questions?"

I don't know why I put my hand up. Dumbledore didn't look surprised though, and said patiently, "Yes, Mr. Riddle?"

I looked around tentatively, and then said, "Well, you have to make some progress, right? I mean, if someone tried their hardest, and still couldn't do magic, then they'd be a Squib." I recalled that word from my reading the night before. Swallowing, I finished, "and they'd get thrown out. Right?" _And get sent back to the orphanage,_ I didn't add.

I heard snorts from behind me, and some Gryffindor girl said, "just like a Slytherin, already trying to flush Hogwarts out. Effort doesn't count for anything to you pampered, silver-spooned slaughterers!" The Gryffindor at her side tried to quiet her, but she adamantly added, "You're lower than Squibs!" An outcry of support sounded for the girl, while several of the Slytherins indignantly shouted back. I simply slunk down into my seat.

Dumbledore called for silence in a stern voice, and the ruckus quieted, with the two Houses still throwing glares at each other. Looking around me, he said, "I'm sure that wasn't what Mr. Riddle meant. Was it?" At that, he glanced at me, giving me the opportunity for further humiliation. 

I gazed about, trying to be diplomatic. "Well, not precisely in the words she used." The laughs I drew from the Slytherins meant nothing compared to the disappointment that flickered in Dumbledore's eyes. He was, after all, the one who would give me my grades.

He kept watching me, and slowly under his gaze I felt a small amount of guilt rise. However, it was quick to be accompanied by a defensive indignation. What was I supposed to have done? He had placed me in a no-win situation, expecting me to either voice my fears that I might be a Squib and have to go back to the orphanage, or look like a prejudiced Slytherin. A steeled glare rose up inside me. If he expected me to burst open with my feelings in a room full of people who probably hated me, he was gravely mistaken. Fortunately, he made no further comment about it, turning to his lesson. Both sides quieted down as we paid attention to his teaching.

The rest of the session was devoted to notes and instruction until the very end. With only a few minutes remaining, Dumbledore passed out the matches that had been lying on his desk. As he gave one to each student, he again carefully went over how we were supposed to turn the match into a pin. He walked up and down, cautioning us not to expect too much, to have patience, and such. I tuned his slow voice out, focusing with interest on the project at hand. I hadn't tried to transfigure anything yet, but then, I had only gotten the books three days before. Still, a nervous clench in my stomach made me wish I'd already somehow mastered the entire art, as if I was chastising myself. Uncertainly, I took out my wand, flicking it over the match and murmured the three-word spell. Immediately a warm glow filled me, and from the tip of my wand the same teardrop-shaped sparks flew, hitting the match and immediately changing it into a perfect pin. 

I breathed a huge sigh of relief, a bit sweaty and shaky from the adrenaline that had built up. Terrifying, mortifying images of the match blowing up, or burning the classroom down--or not doing anything– filled my head. The last possibility had been the most haunting, having grown from my uncertainty over how much talent I truly possessed. My eyes trailed down to the silver pin before me, the shiniest object I could ever recall seeing in my life, and enormous relief inflated me. With a smile upon my face, I looked then at my wand in wonder. Every time I held it I felt a sense of control; a sense of belonging and ability that flowed through me, giving me confidence. It was a feeling that was utterly unknown to me before. It felt…_right_. I relished it.

I then felt something else. Glancing up, I found Dumbledore's eyes on me, staring down with that same weight they always had. I slowly lifted my head and saw that the whole class was whispering behind him. Suddenly nettled, I shifted my gaze back to him. His eyes large, he looked from the pin to me, and then said, "Is everything all right here, Mr. Riddle?"

A smile huge on my face, I responded, "never better. I think I may have a knack for this." As I held up the pin, the Gryffindor girl who had yelled at me before reared up again.

In an accusatory tone she said, "it's probably a trick, Professor! No one can turn it on the first day. No one saw him do it; we were all looking at you! Make him do it again, and I'll bet he can't!" A round of agreement followed her, not stifled by my fellow Slytherins. I rolled my eyes and turned to Dumbledore. He merely gave the girl a mild look that silenced her, and then turned a  thoughtful expression to me.

"Mr. Riddle," he said slowly, "would you mind showing us your skill one more time?"

I was speechless. For a moment. The heatedly I replied, "do you think I'm lying?"

"No, no," Dumbledore said quickly. "I am merely amazed, that is all. I have never seen anything like it. I would like to watch it happen, if I may." 

I gritted my teeth, frustration replacing my moment of happiness. Of course the moment I actually achieved something, it would be called into question, for no other apparent reason than that I was a Slytherin – a half-blooded and orphaned one at that, who could never amount to anything.  I saw a subtle demand that I prove myself in his words, it was hard not to believe that he didn't trust me. Anger, pride, and defensiveness swelled inside me.

Standing up, I made a show of straightening my robes before I walked over to the annoying girl's desk and proceeded to change her match into a pin on the first try. Smiling as spitefully as I could at her, I turned back to Dumbledore and said, "did you have a good enough angle on that one? Or should I do it for all the other students?" 

At that moment the class bell rang, ending the period. Everyone scurried to be let out, and I let my gaze hang on Dumbledore's an extra minute as he said, "no need."

I cursed my outburst internally, and under his gaze I muttered, "I'm sorry, sir."

Then I began to stomp out of the class, when Dumbledore said to me, "excellent work, Mr. Riddle. Outstanding, really." 

For some reason, I could not hold the temper I had been coaxing down. Saying a bit coldly, "Thank you. I thought so," I swept out of the room without looking backwards. My mind mentally added, _glad you finally realized it._

My next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, with Professor Miranda Thistle. She spent most of the class lecturing us that this was a class which would teach us to _ward off_ the Dark Arts, not explore them. As she rattled on, I began to feel a bit annoyed with her. Was she afraid someone was going to accuse her of teaching the supposed 'Dark' Arts to us? And what could possibly be so 'dark'about them? I tried to sort it out in my mind, coming up only with the same thought. Magic was magic, it just depended on how one used it; at least, that was how I saw it so far. I had heard brief mutters in the past few days that they tortured and killed wizards at a prison called Azkaban—was that any different, simply because it was performed under Ministry authority and called righteous? I certainly didn't think so, but after Dumbledore's class I knew better than to speak my mind.

"Mr. Riddle?" Professor Thistle's voice cut through my thoughts. 

Again I had chosen to sit front and center, as much to avoid having direct contact with my peers as to show my studious interests. I blinked and looked at her, frantically trying to figure out if a question had been posed to me. In order to stall, I offered, "yes?"

"Good!" Pr. Thistle's eyes beamed, and I nervously smiled back, having not a clue as to what I had done right. Then Thistle said, "I was never that good at Divination, but I could tell you had a question! I love class participation, so out with it!"

Of course. I heard the groans from the Ravenclaws, as well as a few hisses of, "suck-up!" directed my way. I gulped, trying to think of an appropriate question, only to come out with, "what's so terrible about learning the Dark Arts?"

The moment the words left my lips, I knew I should not have gotten up today. Thistle's eyes became fishbowls, and the collective gasps from the Ravenclaws were mirrored by the Slytherins, some of whom broke into snickers.

I attempted to rectify the situation, quickly saying, "I mean, not to use as such. But, isn't magic amoral? Magic by itself isn't evil, it takes the wizard to choose to use it for whatever means. And who decides what is 'dark'? I heard some say Azkaban is evil, but it's accepted by law. Wouldn't it be more beneficial for us to learn about the Dark Arts, to really understand them, in order to best be able to ward them off?" It seemed logical to me, though I'd rattled it off fairly fast, not having given it too much thought as of yet. I'd only heard of magic weeks ago. Still, some of the theories behind what I'd said had always made sense to me, however underdeveloped they still were in my mind. 

Finally, I paused. Nobody had moved an inch, except perhaps to drop his or her jaw an inch lower to the ground in horror. Fingering my chain, I added, "just a thought." 

Again, the silence prevailed for a minute. Thistle eventually recovered, saying in a flustered voice, "erm, no, Tom, that is a - a very good point. As a matter of fact, it is almost a constant source of debate within the Ministry and community. Especially nowadays, with the war going on. In fact, there is an Ethics in Magic course being offered. Perhaps you might convince Dumbledore to let you into it if you are really interested. However, for our purposes, we need only learn about the defense part. I am sure as we go along, you will learn why the Dark Arts are considered dark and taboo."

I nodded politely, not agreeing with her. How foolish was it to not associate oneself with weapons the enemy would undoubtedly use against them? I'd read everything at the orphanage, seeing the hypocrisy of Mrs. Blunt's actions juxtaposed with what her prayer books said. It seemed far better to me to know everything, especially what was forbidden to me. Being denied teaching had only made me more determined to sneak out of the orphanage and to learn reading and writing at a local library, which I had done. I saw no difference here in learning how to control these powers, _not aberrations, that I possessed._

It would take a weak wizard to be unable to control how he used his magic. My heart beat faster at that, but I firmly told myself that I would not be weak. So far, I had found magic to only be beneficial, giving me power and knowledge.  Such things weren't sources of good and evil, and neither was magic. Those attributes were for feeble people like those at the orphanage, or the Gryffindor girl who shouted at me. I couldn't see it any other way. Power, knowledge and magic were merely tools for someone to use and love. 

Not that I was planning to use anything to hurt people. But I didn't see the problem with having the capability to, because who knew when it could be used for something positive? And who got to decide when I was ready to learn? The hypocritical people who allowed Azkaban? The prejudiced community which spat on Mudbloods and Slytherins? Teachers who went out of their way to humiliate me?

I finally snapped back to reality, finding Thistle managing a small smile at me. I bit my lip, forcing back a frown. She so far hadn't meant to embarrass me, and part of me did wish without much hope to have faith in her. The rest stubbornly held on to my old reasoning, finding hers unsatisfactory. In the end, for all the intellectual words and turns my mind made, I was still left slightly unsure. 

This philosophical debate continued in my head until Potions began. The teacher was Professor Thaddeus Zwipp, our Head of House. He smiled at us, and then began to bark out questions rapidly. He began by focusing in on the Gryffindors, but once he realized that I knew all of the answers he let them be and instead merely asked me. I had read over the book during the brief lunch period between classes, and most of the information took. I once heard someone say to me I had a photographic memory. Whether this was true or not, memorization came easily for me, as did analytical reasoning, so Potions and I were a ready match. Zwipp basked in my glory, beaming and giving Slytherin twenty points after saying how proud he was to be associated with our House. Some of the Slytherins gave me grins as we exited, and I smiled back, relieved that there was one class I hadn't screwed up in yet. A smug sense of superiority filled me as well over my performance, one that I childishly didn't try to hide from certain Gryffindors. 

After Potions, I headed with the Gryffindors and Slytherins outside onto the bright grassy field for our first flying lesson. The air outside was cool, and the sun was going down, letting off beautiful bands of red and orange to cover the school. I stared up in awe at the Quidditch scoring hoops, seeming to stand hundreds of feet in the air. A few also gazed dreamily upward, imagining the feeling of flying. The image truthfully made my palms slightly damp, though I scolded myself for it. I didn't exactly want to trust my personage on a cleaning utensil seventy feet in the air. Nor did I wish to become one with the broom, as some of my classmates were saying in a pathetic effort to sound poetic. I just wanted to control it enough so I didn't break anything or humiliate myself. Flying seemed a useful enough tool, though, so I gritted my teeth in determination to just learn how. I couldn't imagine we'd fly that high on the first day, but I resolved to regardless of my apprehension if it was required. 

Our professor was Josephine Wingram, an old professional Quidditch player she kept saying over and over again. She seemed pleasant enough, if a little too enthusiastic. She also kept reminding the girls to not be intimidated by us "males" since it was almost proven that women were naturally better flyers than men. The girls giggled at this, while the masculine portion of us looked either confused or disgruntled. We were finally told to step to the left of our brooms and extend our right hands over, saying firmly the word "up."

I did so, the broom coming into my hand on the second try. It also did so on the first or second take for five of the girls, and three other of the boys. Randy's came into his hand first, a surprised but extremely pleased look on his face. Weasley, however, made a rude comment only to me, before his broom spun round and tripped him. I decided to believe that I had some small part in doing that. 

Finally everyone had gotten their brooms and mounted. We were then told to hover in the air, which I managed fairly easily. Gripping the broom tight, I forced my concentration to focus on controlling the broom to stillness. It shook slightly, but didn't jerk or toss me off. Several of the kids began drifting or were dumped to the ground. My smile widened, the day having done an almost complete turnaround from its disastrous morning. Flying - well, hovering – wasn't an exhilarating feeling of freedom for me, but neither was it disastrous. I looked up, glad I didn't have to go higher, when I noticed that the sky was abruptly changing. Wingram was busy with someone who had fallen and was making a scene, and the rest were trying to hang on. No one was paying attention to the blue-black thickness that was clouding up the sky. It tumbled across, brushing through the peaceful rays of remaining sunlight, crushing them with sounds of laughter and lightening. My eyes widened as a small bird became lost in the mists, tossed  around, out of control, and crying out for help. I turned my head wildly, amazed that no one else was hearing these calls.

The blackness was choking it—I sucked air in, feeling as dizzy and faint as the suffering bird must have. A fiber seemed knotted around its fate and my own. Without looking back, I sped upwards, swerving to avoid the bolts of bright silver that crackled and burned around me, singeing my face and hands.  My eyes watered, blurring out of focus - but I could hear the bird, it was crying, crying out for anyone to answer its pleas, begging for assistance. I tried to comfort it, to let it know I was coming, was near—but it was so far away, and the smoke was dragging me down. I could make out the bird now—it was a phoenix, its beautiful feathers now dissolving, its beak falling off. It wailed at me to save it from this fate as its eyes filled with red and began to glow, a maniacal hand gripping its soul. It gave one last shriek to heaven, trying to extend the tip of its wing to my saving hand—I reached with all my might, not caring if I fell, taking whatever risks were necessary to reach through the darkness before it overtook us completely –

But I was too late, and the phoenix, once pure, became one with the darkness engulfing me—with cheerless eyes, glaring at me for not trying harder, it screeched at my head, using a will beyond mine to force me downward, plummeting me to the ground in a field of flames and anguish.

I landed soundly, my head dizzy. Images whirled in and out in front of me, before Wingram's face snapped into focus. Her voice a mixture of horror and anger, she sputtered, "what - what were you doing, Riddle?!"

I climbed up weakly, only then noticing I held something in my arms. Looking down in horror, I quickly dropped the charred remains I was holding and backed away on all fours. The smoke was rising from the dead corpse of the phoenix, singing a song as it was lifted through the wind. In a voice too weak for me to hear, I said, "Trying to save it."

Wingram's voice cut through, no longer upset but gentle. "Save what?" she asked, creeping up next to my shivering form. "All we saw was you swoop up into the sky on a broom too old to normally move, screaming something unintelligible, then crash right here." She forced my eyes to hers, where I saw concern  reside. "Care to tell us what happened?"

I stared at the ground. Nothing was left of the bird's remains. My calm voice, the only part of me not quivering uncontrollably, said, "I thought I saw something."

*

"_A bird_, Riddle?! _That_ was your excuse? A _bird_?" Randy's voice was choked with food and amusement. Apparently my good work in Potions and my entertaining bout of insanity in Flying had gained me some admirers. A few others chuckled as I divulged the private conversation I had held with Wingram. I had been let off with a warning and a patronizing compliment on my flying. Randy shook his head, grinning in amazement. "Wow, I have new admiration for you, Riddle. An injured bird. You must be good if you could actually talk Wingram into believing that. I heard that normally she'd assume you were trying to show off and kick you out." 

I smiled back pathetically. In all honesty, it probably was how shaken I was that made Wingram go easy on me, as opposed to the 'hurt bird and too much first day excitement' story. I didn't say as much, letting my classmates have a fair regard of me rather than divulge more information. I still could not get rid of the image of the darkness engulfing me, and the poor phoenix's tumultuous end alongside me. My stomach was too jittery to have eaten much again, causing Dumbledore to find something new to question me on. He had actually come up to the table to ask if I was all right, because I didn't seem to be eating properly. I had almost groaned right there. The last thing I needed was to be told something else about me was strange and abnormal.

Now we were all back in the common rooms, drinking tea around the fire. Even Snicks had come out to join us, and was lying on my shoulder, lapping from my cup. I felt slightly more at ease, having the small measure of acceptance that I now did. I was also glad that Dash wasn't around to hear this, because I was afraid he might take it more seriously than my peers. He might have noticed how my cup still trembled in my shaking hands, or how I jumped when a light flickered. The last thing I wanted now was to plunge back into that hallucination, especially since its echoes were still replaying inside my mind. I kept my replies polite but short, hoping they would take the hint.

Eventually the conversation turned to other things, and I leaned back, slowly drifting out of its circulation. The day confused me, wringing my insides out. I desperately wanted to figure it out, or at least focus on something I could understand. I was just about to make my excuses to do some homework when the passage door opened to reveal a small owl carrying a message. It flew over to me, and then waited for me to untie the paper and give it some tea before it flew out again hooting. I opened the paper curiously as the other members of my house crowded around. In the familiar loopy writing was scrawled a request that I visit Headmaster Dippet in his office immediately. 

I looked up and shrugged my innocence to my housemates, who returned to conversing about the night's Potions homework. Standing, I threw my cloak over my clothes and left the common rooms. It still felt indescribably good to have two feet on the ground. 

I ignored the tantalizing calls from Ms. Tress and headed down one of the long, windy hallways. Ten minutes later I was still walking that way, passing rooms I had never seen before. Frustrated, I stopped and tried to reorient myself when I felt a chill pass through me. Looking up, I saw the Slytherin's House ghost wavering above me. The Bloody Baron was decked out in his bloodstained uniform, his grin displaying a grey-stained row of rotten teeth. 

"Not good to be roaming the halls at night, lad," he rumbled. I smiled at him, feeling relieved at his presence. The ghosts, especially the Baron and Peeves, scared most of the first-years, but I found them more amusing than anything. 

"But it's the perfect time for ghost hunting," I said mischievously. 

The Baron responded by passing through me again, his glide eliciting an icy coldness throughout my being. He hovered in front of me, glaring. "Don't even jest about taking up such a monstrous pastime."

"I'm sorry," I said contritely, and then asked, "do you know where Headmaster Dippet's office is?"

The Baron huffed. "Of course I do, but I am certainly not in the mood to tell you now." He crossed his arms, sending me a challenging look. 

I sighed, and then said by way of apology, "how about if I put in a good word for you with Ms. Tress?" I'd heard someone say that the Baron had a liking for her, and I leaped upon that angle.

At that, the Baron's eyes brightened, and he said hungrily, "oh, I have been after her for ages. She just doesn't understand the opportunities a ghost could offer her." He smoothed his shirtfront at that, a preening pride exuding from his being.

"Erm - right, I'm sure." I tried hard not to form any mental images at that. "I'll inform her of that."

The Baron puffed up, and then said, "you wouldn't mind?" His eyebrow quirked up menacingly, clearly saying he would hold me to my word.

I smiled. "Not at all. If you would be so kind as to inform me where Dippet's office is?"

Floating higher, the Baron said slyly, "always a catch with Slytherins, eh? Well, I wouldn't have it any other way." He pointed to one of the staircases about a hundred feet behind me and said, "take that staircase to the bottom, then turn right. He should be there, his office was an hour ago when I - well, never mind about that, let's just say, I _heard_ he was there an hour ago." At that, the Baron gave me a wink, and then straightened back into a menacing shape before gliding out, warning me that he would haunt me to death if I didn't speak with Ms. Tress. 

I walked down the winding staircase, coming to the dark wood door and the shiny plaque, which proclaimed that this was Dippet's office. I paused outside, composing a plausible story that was in line with what I had told Wingram, and then knocked gently. A low voice bid me enter, and I pushed the door open to reveal a circular office with sleeping portraits covering the walls, their faces mashed against the frames. Faint snores and wheezes reached my ears. The furniture was decorated in warm colors, and a large tapestry emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest hung behind the cherry wood desk. Headmaster Dippet was seated, but he slowly came to his feet as he saw me, his wizened face adopting a faint smile. To his right sat Dumbledore, whose long auburn hair was pushed back from his face, revealing an intent gaze. My heart dropped at seeing him there, and my mind frantically raced trying to think of what to say. It didn't make sense; I had been completely calm and prepared to face the Headmaster of the school who, essentially, held my fate in his hands at the moment. But upon seeing the younger Deputy Headmaster, I was quaking. It must have something to do with the look in his eyes, which roused a kind of subconscious guilt in me.  The way he regarded me, it made me feel as if I had no right to exist, as if I were guilty of things I didn't remember doing.

"Ah, Mr. Riddle of the never-ending Sorting," Dippet said kindly, motioning me to a chair facing him. I swallowed hard, trying to force a natural smile on my face. My eyes were continually drawn to Dumbledore, who remained motionless. I sat, nervously wringing my hands before gripping my chain. Dumbledore sat forward as he observed this, and I immediately dropped my hands, placing them both stiffly on my lap. I waited for one of them to speak.

Dippet sat back at his desk, folding his hands in front of him. He looked serious. "Mr. Riddle, today something was brought to my attention by one of your teachers—it doesn't have anything to do with your classes exactly, but –"

"I didn't do it!" I burst out with automatically before clamping my mouth shut. Dippet and Dumbledore looked at me curiously, and I cursed myself. Twisting my hands together I hastily added, "I mean, I thought I saw a bird, and—" Dippet was looking at me as if I had grown another head, and worse, Dumbledore merely looked more interested, if that was possible. I shifted my gaze between them. "And - and it was in trouble, and—this is not what you were talking about, is it?" I finished lamely. They both shook their heads, and I tried to smile and shrug. I couldn't understand what came over me—I always had good self-control, but the nerves I felt around Dumbledore drew any resolve out of me. 

I forced myself to focus on Dippet, and said smoothly, "I thought you were talking about my flying lesson today. I thought I saw a phoenix being hurt -"

"A what?" Dumbledore interrupted me, looking a bit anxious now. I gave him a strange look, and then said coldly, "a bird - some kind of bird. I don't know birds," I lied, and Dippet waved his hand impatiently at Dumbledore to be quiet so that I could continue. Dumbledore seemed about to object, but he finally settled back, asawatskl;a watching me as if he could penetrate my mind. 

I continued, rolling now, trying to keep the real images away. "And so I flew up to save it—I couldn't let it get hurt. But it was just the sun playing with my eyes, since it was going down and shadows were out. I shouldn't have been so abrupt, and I already apologized to Professor Wingram." I looked innocently back at Dippet, and said in a small voice, "I am very sorry sir, I should not have acted so hastily."

Dippet waved me off, saying, "oh, not at all, boy. I think it shows great strength of character to try something so brave, to save a life. And it seems you have learned a good lesson."

 I made my eyes light up, and then said, "oh, I have, sir. I don't normally act so rashly."

Dippet smiled. "Of course. Now that that is out of the way, let's get to the real reason we called you down here, shall we?" At that he turned to Dumbledore, and I felt the smile freeze on my face. If it wasn't Wingram who had talked to Dippet, it must have been Dumbledore. Were they going to discuss my question in class?

I waited in agony for a few moments as Dippet sighed, then said carefully, "Mr. Riddle, Tom, it came to my attention that you live at an orphanage."

My voice caught in my throat. "Not anymore, sir. Now I'm at your school. And I am really enjoying it, and I think I'm doing well -"

Dippet said, "well, yes, Tom. But still, - oh, this is difficult." He leaned forward. "The students who come here, they receive support from others back home. I am not simply talking about emotional support—but rather, in the - financial sense."

I felt a slow burn rise up in me, my pale face turning red. I wondered if he had noticed my poor demeanor, or if Dumbledore had said something from our encounter at Diagon Alley. Probably Dumbledore, since Dippet said that it had just come to his attention. Part of me felt relief, actually - I knew this issue would have had to be addressed sometime. I looked at Dumbledore, and he looked genuinely sympathetic. I felt embarrassed for that, but at least he didn't look disapproving, which might have sent me into a fit. 

Dippet was still talking, and I tried to focus on him. "You see, Hogwarts does have a tuition fee. It is not large, and some of our students receive scholarships or sponsorship. But, you see, since you are new to our community, and a first year, that is not really an option for you."

I nodded, beginning to rise slowly. Feeling what was left of my heart breaking I said quickly, "I understand. I'll pack up now. I really loved attending your school, while I could."

"Sit back down!" The commanding tone in Dumbledore's voice shocked me into place, half-risen from the seat. He must have just noticed how he startled me, for he added hastily, "you are not being kicked out. No, I told Dippet you showed--remarkable--promise." He gave me a strange smile, but a smile nonetheless. "We wanted to figure out a plausible way to keep you here."

"Oh," I said. I sat back down, thinking hard. Maybe Dumbledore was feeling bad for having doubted me earlier, and he was trying to make up for it? Maybe he just didn't trust me elsewhere. Well, whatever reason, I felt a desperate need to stay here, and I was grateful that I would be allowed to do so.

Dippet continued, smiling. "You were indeed the topic of conversation at dinner, Mr. Riddle. Your ears must have been burning. All the teachers commented that you were a wonderful addition to their class. So, since we are not going to give you up without a fight, we tried to come up with a plan for you to stay."

I nodded, my heart beating. "And?" I asked shakily.

Dippet smiled. "Professor Dumbledore came up with a wonderful solution. He suggested that you become an aide to the teachers here—he suggested a personal aide, but I thought it better if you helped out the entire faculty. So, if you agree, for a few hours every day, you will be an assistant to one of the teachers, or the groundskeeper, the nurse, or myself. It shouldn't take too much time from your studies, and besides, it'll be a great learning experience. Especially for someone just getting used to the magical community. What do you say?"

I looked at them. Dippet was smiling widely and satisfied. Dumbledore—well, he was smiling as well.  I tried to do as he had done to me, to cut him open with my eyes and study his innards with a look. Why would he want me as his personal assistant? Because I could do the Transfiguration lesson so easily? Or because he didn't trust me? His eyes still showed the added keenness that had sprung up when I had withdrawn the phoenix statement. I was afraid that he would call me on it, on my hallucinations or visions, branding me a demon and try to banish me. I turned to Dippet, thanking every last hair on his head that he had not made me Dumbledore's personal aide. 

"It sounds perfect, sir. Sirs. Thank you," I said this meekly, smiling with the genuine gratitude and relief I felt. 

Dippet smiled and stood, his hand outstretched. "Well, that settles that. I knew a solution would be found. Things work out the way they should, Mr. Riddle."

"If you try hard enough they do, sir," I said back, carefully taking his hand. He gave a slightly confused glance, but still escorted me out, his hand wrapped around my flinching shoulder. He bade me goodnight, saying that in the morning he would have an owl send me word of where and when I would be working. I smiled back, said goodnight, and then hurried off. 

Once alone, I breathed a shaky sigh of relief, leaning against the railing which led down to the Slytherin rooms. I fingered my cross, smiling slightly. Somehow, no matter how little I believed it would, life seemed to be working out here. 

My smile widening, I turned, ready to enter my rooms and get ahead for the next day's lessons, when a voice stopped me cold. I didn't have to turn to recognize the speaker - I knew only one person who could put me at so ill at ease here. Steeling myself with a deep breath, I shifted to face him and stood my ground. I had to wonder what today's fourth encounter with Dumbledore would bring, and whether I would survive this one unscathed

...


	8. Chapter 8: Futility in Reality

**Chapter 08: Futility in Reality**

Dumbledore was hurrying after me, his expression fixed in what I felt sure was forced pleasantry. He stopped about three feet in front of me, eyeing me up and down. I consciously folded my arms across my chest—my work robe was on and fastened, but I still felt as though my shabby clothes beneath showed through. I stood still, saying slowly, "Yes, Professor?"

Dumbledore shifted and tried smiling at me; I tried to do the same back, but an awkwardness still resulted. I racked my brain, trying to imagine why he would be here, when he made as if to speak. Predictably, he then did so. Feeling a slight advantage, I straightened up to my full height and waited patiently. I did not budge nor make a sound, merely staring into his eyes as he played his move out.

"Tom," he said, still trying to smile, "I am very glad about the way things turned out today. Are you?"

His voice seemed a little loud—it had been that way earlier, when in class he'd denied that he didn't trust me. I had heard people do that before when they felt uncomfortable; raise their voices to hide the uncertainty of a hastily assembled lie. I wasn't sure if this was a small crack in the impenetrable Deputy Headmaster, but I decided it was worth pursuing. After all, it was only fair, since he seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in putting me on unsure footing.

"Yes."

"And I do want you to know that I am most impressed by your performance in class. It was remarkable, and I hardly think it was due solely to my teaching. Not that I am fishing for compliments." His smile appeared uncertain to my gaze, but he didn't break out in a sweat. I gave him credit for that. He continued lightly, "I couldn't. I can't fish."

"Really? Thank you."

Dumbledore paused at that, and we resumed our staring match until he finally sighed. In an emotionless tone, he said quietly, "And you truly despise me, don't you, Mr. Riddle?"

I was stupefied; I think my jaw actually dropped. I said quickly, "No—no, sir, of course not." What did he expect me to say? That I thought he hated me? That for some reason I felt he didn't trust me, and that he made me question myself and feel inferior and impure, as opposed to talented? That I felt a strong desire to impress him in spite of all this? Was that even hate?

"Indeed?" His voice yanked my consciousness back to him. Dumbledore gave me a look of wry amusement that I'd seen often enough in my own expressions. That thought was quickly suppressed—I didn't want to start trying to find common bases with this man in my mind. I kept my expression neutral as he added, "I thought after the blunder I made today, you would have every reason to despise me."

His eyes danced in merriment as he saw my confused expression. "Oh, not used to a professor admitting he is wrong, eh? Well, I think it does everyone good, including instructors, to know when they make mistakes and to try and correct them. Do you agree?"

"Erm—sure."

"Well, Mr. Riddle, I was wrong to question you in front of the class today. I was in disbelief about your feat, and I acted unwisely." The skin around the corners of his mouth tightened briefly as he continued, "You see, I have not been teaching here long—teaching anywhere long, as a matter of fact. I hope that one day I shall be an instructor who does not make these kinds of mistakes, though I'm sure I'll make others. But I apologize for questioning you in front of the class."

He stood proud, his words calm, an odd demeanor in my mind for one whose words were so humble. It made me suspicious.

I noticed that he did not apologize for the actual doubting, merely for giving it voice, and let my own doubt of him nag at my insides. Still, I could hardly refuse. Dumbledore was someone that might take awhile to figure out, and the last thing I wanted was him breathing down my neck. Perhaps accepting his apology and never speaking in class again would keep him away. I forced a smile, my stock smile, and said, "Of course I accept, sir. I wasn't even really upset about what you apologized for."

Dumbledore's lips turned up at that, carving themselves back into a small smile—a scrutinizing one that said he had caught the snide edge present in my acceptance. I was between astonishment and annoyance and then fell to self-cursing. He let it pass, though, perhaps noticing I had danced away from bringing up his lack of apology for doubting me. "Well, that settles that," he said.

I was about to bid him goodnight when he unclasped his hands from behind him and brought them around for me to see. My eyes widened at what was before me, as Dumbledore said quickly, "I wasn't sure if I should give you this. You see, I had these from a long time ago. They aren't in the best shape, but they might work for you. I hope you don't take this the wrong way—"

"They're Muggle clothes," I said hoarsely. I stared blankly at his hand, filled with frayed and faded clothing similar to what I had seen and worn at the orphanage.

Dumbledore caught my eye. He cleared his throat and then said uncertainly, "For a long time, I was interested in Muggle studies. I wore these out there for field work when I was at school. I was older, but you'll grow into them. I thought they might be nice for you—what you are used to."

"Yes," I said monotonously. "They certainly remind me of what I'm used to, of what I am." _And will never get away from._ I felt hollow; it was the only way to drench out the anguish building up.

I couldn't look at him directly anymore. Instead I stared at the worn clothes, knowing he thought of me when he looked at them. Thought of poverty-stricken, Muggle-raised, Mudblood Tom Marvolo Riddle. He wasn't the first. Yet, I wasn't angry; I was ashamed. That was why he didn't trust me, why he was amazed I could do simple tricks and didn't fit in and was in need of charity. He saw the Muggle in me and pitied it as the Blunts and other Muggles had pitied the wizard in me. But at least my wizard half seemed capable of accomplishing something. I had proven that today. And now this condescending sympathy was overshadowing the only worth I ever showed, demeaning so that it was nothing. I hated the pity and what it meant. Hated that I deserved it because of my upbringing and my need of things like the clothes lying in front of me. And in that growing hatred, I made a vow right then and there to never allow pity from anyone again. I didn't care what it took; I would prove to Dumbledore, to the Blunts, to everyone and everything—including myself—that I was more than the half-Muggle in me.

"Tom?" Dumbledore's faraway voice dragged me back to reality. I blinked and then managed to face him. I thought I saw concern in his eyes, and if I had not been focused on searching for the pity there, I might have been sure. He still looked uncertain; it was a look that didn't suit him well, as if he wasn't used to it. I tried to build myself back up, at least externally, as he said "Would you like the clothes, at least until you find others?"

My voice was cold. I had to make it that way, make everything about me at that moment cold and impenetrable, or else I would break. "Thank you." We stood staring at each other again, and I felt the walls creep back between us. He made a move as if to speak, to do or say something differently, but nothing came out. Finally, I could not stand there anymore. Replete with stock smile, I bade him goodnight and quickly turned. Heading to the Slytherin stairs, I strained my ears to pick up any words, but all that rang were the heels of his shoes retreating in the other direction and the sweep of the clothes which I dragged on the floor. Not looking back, I sucked any emotion down through me into the cold stone steps that led me into darkness.

~*~

My eyes felt dry. No matter how much I blinked, I could not give them relief. I stared at the clock next to me—it read, "Not Time For Breakfast, Go To Bed." A smile came to me; this was one of the few times I appreciated the whimsy of Hogwarts. The rooms and objects were familiar to me, yet different enough so that it didn't always draw up needless remembrance of my former life.

The clock began buzzing—hissing, really—in my defiance of its command. Right then I was sitting in the Slytherin common rooms, and I figured it must be around four in the morning. I had drawn a blanket around me; for even with a fire, the dungeon where my dorm was still remained chilled. Snicks was lying on the floor, belly up, contentedly hissing snores. No other sound trickled to my ears, except the few snorts or stirs from the sleeping bodies in the dorms.

I cherished this time to myself. Most of it was spent studying, which had paid off greatly in the two weeks I had been here. It all seemed to come easily for me—Transfiguration was a brilliant breeze, while Herbology, History of Magic, and Potions were mostly memorization. Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms were an even combination of memorization and practice, but none of them so far had really taxed me. Flying could hardly be considered a subject, but since I was determined to thrive here, I studied that as well, reading everything in the library on its history. I found out that flying on brooms had once been banished by the Ministry because they saw using magic outside of its primal elements, namely nature and the bearer's body, could bring chaos into society. Since man was not wholly good, whatever he created could not be so either. The broom being made by man had no will of its own, but was the instrument of power for the creator, good or evil, and did its bidding. People in the magic community were afraid using such objects could lead to a slippery slope where man tried to control more and more of magic and enforce it on everything, not always for good. I found such history fascinating and wished flying was more theoretical. It did burn me that I wasn't the best at flying, until I decided that flying was really pointless when I'd soon enough learn how to Apparate. Flying was good to have knowledge about, but hardly worth my true efforts, I thought decisively and condescendingly.

Still, I was surprised they allowed such a book as the one on flying in the library, since it questioned the inherent nature of man. Everyone here seemed to shy away from such questions, near as I could tell, as they had in the Muggle world. I surmised they didn't think a book on flying would hold something like that, or else I was reading more into it than was there. Either way, the fact that the Ministry had once banned flying because it doubted humanity's ability to control it, yet now regarded it as common practice, was a good point to bring up in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Not that I wanted to learn the Dark Arts so badly, but Professor Thistle said she liked to be challenged. She believed me when I said I was merely curious in learning both sides of the argument. She said such an attitude was of extreme importance in this time of coming war. She babbled on excitedly, constantly warning me of merely taking the theories of the arguments. I had patiently nodded, extracting the valuable information from what she said. It led me to writings on the foundational thinking of the great minds of magic, both past and present, who almost all dealt in some way with the issue of "dark magic." She gave me all the books she had on the Ethics of Magic and Defense and had coaxed Dumbledore into letting me take his experimental new Ethics class as only a first year.

So far, every class was working out, except Care of Magical Creatures. For some reason, probably because I could speak with snakes, I assumed that would be the easiest class for me. It wasn't as if I didn't do the work; in fact, I had already read almost all of our assignments and was now going through everything the library had. But the second I got close to some of the animals, they balked. _Or worse_, I thought with a grimace, rubbing my forehead where a Clabbert had head-butted me. It was from such incidents that Dippet was talking about making the class only for older students. That would have suited me fine, though my ego would still smart. Professor Odios didn't seem to think much of it, simply shrugging while saying, "It isn't all about reading. Some have the touch, lad—" clearly implying I didn't. I stared into the fireplace now, still infuriated at his insinuation, my mind refusing to stop picking at that scab. I had wanted to tell him heatedly then that I was a Parselmouth, but thankfully I remembered the reaction it had caused from Dumbledore and had stuffed that impulse down.

Most of the Slytherins had laughed me off when I complained about this, causing me to distance myself from them. They couldn't understand the need I had to succeed, even if it was only in a Creatures class. Professor Odios said that effort counted the most, that I was doing very well in his class, and that some of the animals took extremely well to me. I tried to tell myself this as I lay sleepless, but I just couldn't let it rest. I was compelled by my nature not to take Odios' answer. I was meant to excel in that subject, as I was in everything else. I_ had_ to. It was a truth I couldn't explain to anyone, even Snicks. Desperately I needed to find some way to show it. I had to prove I belonged here more than anyone else.

The clock spat, "Daft Child," then, stirring me from my troubling thoughts. I glared at it, but let the comment slide as I released a sigh. At least I had not drifted into the phoenix dream again. It came to me every night now, although each time a stronger sense overcame me that someone—or something—else was watching this. A faint, malicious laugh taunted me, and when I tried to turn to see who it was, the bird soared higher in desperation, forcing my focus back onto it as if it were a beacon of light drawing me in. Each time I felt more futility over fighting for the bird, along with my desperation and anguish at my failure. And each time I was unsuccessful, the laughter heightened, and the bird's red eyes burned guilt into mine as it wailed at me for not trying harder. But I did try—I was trying my hardest—

"Tom?" Snicks' soft hiss snapped my consciousness back to reality.

I noticed that I hadn't been breathing, holding air in as if smoke really were surrounding me. I was drenched with sweat, sucking in deep gasps of air. My left hand was paralyzed; when I looked down, I noticed it was clasping my cross so tight the blood drained out of my fingers and they went numb. I always ended up like this when I allowed myself to slip back into the dream. Or whatever it was. It was always terrifying and was getting worse. I could not sleep at nights, not wanting to experience it again. Thankfully I had taken some Pepperup potion from the nurse when I worked with her, for it enabled me to only have to sleep about two hours every night. Well, for a while, and then I'd weakly crash.

I looked at Snicks, who was examining me. He seemed mixed between curiosity and concern. I tried to smile at him and said quietly, "Just worried about my test."

Snicks looked insulted at that. "Right," he said. Then he slithered off, apparently hurt that I hadn't confided in him.

I watched after him, not knowing what to say. The grip of the taunting laughter had reached my heart this time, squeezing everything out of it. It was still ringing in my ears, and I dared not vocalize it for fear it would become real. "How can I explain something that isn't even sensible to me?" I asked the wind softly. No response came.

The clock chimed again—it was five o'clock now. That was real. So was my test today. I picked up the book I was studying, going at it with renewed ferocity. Dreams were fantasy—if anything, it was just restating my fears of not doing well in class because of not trying my hardest. _My mind is just over-dramatizing,_ I tried to convince my nerves. Deciding I would apologize to Snicks later, I spent the rest of the morning reading about unicorns.

The air outside later that day was surprisingly hot as we gathered around the groundskeeper's hut for our Care of Magical Creatures class. Mr. Wynn was helping Odios in our first field work test. Before us stood two unicorns, only slightly taller than myself. They were a beautiful silvery white, with long, elegant horns that seemed of pearl. Purity was the only word that sprang to my mind when I looked at them, followed by a recognition of the subtle yet impressive power they radiated. They stood patiently, their wizened eyes glancing over all.

Someone next to me shifted. I saw Randy pull at his collar, his face twisted in discomfort. Everyone was sweating and looking disheveled. I felt my nose curl up in distaste, though I doubted I was any different. Perhaps it was my anxiety over the upcoming test that made my senses so acute. At the moment, I could barely stand the putrid stench coming off my companions or the sight of their glistening sweat slowly falling to the ground. I shuddered and fixated on the unicorns, focusing my attention on the job at hand.

We were to approach one of the unicorns and make contact with them. What kind of contact was up to the unicorn, but it was supposedly symbolic of something inside us that only something pure could detect. We then had to attempt to explain the symbolism and its meaning. I was nervous—my first contact with a unicorn two lessons ago had been less than pleasant. The unicorn had refused to look at me, averting all contact. It had been worse than the tree sprite biting me when I tried to fix its enclosed habitat. I had read that sometimes beings of great, indefinable power could bring out fright in the creatures of purity, which the unicorn and sprite were. It said that in these cases the one of power must make it known their motives were wholesome and good to the pure creature. While I wasn't sure I could describe myself as one of great, indefinable power, it was the only explanation I had been able to find. And I found it better than the one Odios offered, which was that I had been too nervous and simply had to relax.

The Hufflepuffs went first. Most of them received touches from the unicorn's horn on their right hands. It was a common sign, symbolizing their value of friendship and helpfulness.

"They got an easy one," grumbled Cathleen Roslyn, one of my fellow Slytherins. She came from a long line of wizards and witches; most, if not in Azkaban, were in the Ministry. Being the lone Mudblood in Slytherin, I wasn't a favorite of hers. She continued, "Anyone could imagine what that gesture meant." I rolled my eyes at her stupidity.

"They didn't 'get' it; it's a part of them. The unicorn can see that is their truest essence, or the one they most readily recognize. It's like the Sorting Hat. I wonder if there is a connection?" I suddenly realized that my explanation had rambled into my personal musings, and I received only puzzled looks from those surrounding me. I shrugged, quickly covering. "It might be on a test." At that, everyone sighed in exasperation, well aware already of my obsessive study habits. I think if my studying didn't give my fellow Slytherins the opportunity to show up the Ravenclaws, some of them might start plotting to throw books at me.

Finally came the Slytherins' turns. I watched some with interest. Dash had told me he had been touched by the horn over his heart, a gesture commonly found when the Gryffindors' took this test, except it had then grazed up and down his left shoulder.

Cathleen received a unicorn's tail brushing her face. I couldn't help but laugh as she tried to come up with an explanation. Haughtily, she said, "Obviously, the unicorn is trying to protect my head with its strong tail, because in my head lies my most valuable feature, my mind."

I had to admit, that was an excellent cover-up. But I still added quietly in jest, "I think I read something a little different."

Simon, another Slytherin who was tall with curly, brown hair and shared my dislike of Cathleen, grinned at me and shouted, "Cathleen! Riddle's got a better explanation for you!" Cathleen spun; her face red and glaring daggers at me. Professor Odios and Wynn merely looked amused.

I turned to her incredibly large head and innocently said, "Well, I read that unicorns use their tails as a repellent. Now, it is interesting they picked your head to repel against. Hm...unicorns do have an incredibly keen sense of smell—could it be something you put on your head? No? Well, I'd hate to think it was something inside." I kept my tone light, as if merely offering a friendly jest. All of the Slytherins laughed, which pleased me.

At this point, Odios stepped in, but he still wore a smile on his face, saying, "Well, Mr. Riddle has done the readings, though that last part is hardly proven. Let's not add on any unscientific facts the next time you offer help, all right?" I smiled back at him, as most of the others snorted in containing their laughter. I turned back to Cathleen, my smile still calm and easy.

She had turned an interesting shade of reddish purple, but her expression was calm. She was a true Slytherin, a person who, when backed into a corner, struck cruelly and with confidence. She strode up close to me and, although much smaller, did not lose any more dignity looking up. Of course, at that point she didn't have much to begin with. Her voice just loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, "That's right, Mudblood. Readings are all you have, because a real creature of magic won't even come near you." She made a show of holding her nose as she chided, "You give off a far worse odor than anything with pure blood could. And you can never change that, not with a million readings." She leaned in closer, her words running rancid as she whispered, "As my father likes to tell others, 'I can't wait to see you fall.' You won't be in normal society long."

My eyes turned cold, and I wanted nothing more than to twist her smile off of her face. Something inside me compelled me to attack, drawing me closer to my wand. I felt the power of it trembling, begging for my fingers. My breath heaving, I began to reach for it, only to hear the demonic, wheezing laughter heat up above me. That stopped me short, making me aware of the submissive, dreamlike state I had been slipping into by some controlling force. It frightened me, while at the same time offering incredible temptation. Its controlling power was suffocating me, as in my dreams. I barely fought it down, wondering why I was begging myself to withhold. The force backed off, though whether that was entirely my own doing, I questioned. My fists were clenched, my chain weighing down my neck. I desperately wanted to punish her, but on my own terms. I bided my time, forcing myself to calm. Finally I offered her a similar frozen smile, saying coldly, "Then I'll say hello to your mother while I'm at Azkaban, if she's still alive."

I didn't even see the slap coming; I was too focused on the sudden flow of tears streaming down her face. Shock overcame me, for I didn't think she had the capability to cry. I thought less of her, if that was even possible. But it still cut me deeper than the mark she left on my upper cheek as she flung her hand across my face. She backed away then, sobbing, her eyes unable to regain control. She dashed off towards the school, leaving everyone else to turn and stare at me.

Nobody had heard our last exchange, but I still felt the accusation in some of their eyes. Even Simon looked a little wary. Guilt swept over me as I realized how vicious the statement I had made was. But her comments had left me bare, where the only thing that surfaced was my desire to give it back to her. I tried to tell myself she deserved the pain she was now feeling. It would give her some needed humility. Suddenly an image of Mrs. Blunt standing over me, belt in hand, starving me, taunting me about my family, saying it was for my own good, came rushing back to me. I staggered forward, clenching my head. It was different, what I had done, wasn't it? I had acted as I should. She had been trying to hurt me, and I was only protecting myself at any cost. Like a real Slytherin.

I stumbled forward to the unicorn. No one objected as I pushed ahead and eyed the first one in front. The unicorn huffed, flaring its nostrils. I told it softly that I meant no danger to it and that I just had to know the truth. It quieted down, letting me approach. I was too charged with energy to be nervous. We stood forever like that, staring at one another. Its brown eyes absorbed me, and I actually felt its spirit passing throughout me. I trembled, figuring a monster inside me would scare it off, but it just stood steadily. Finally, after an eternity, the unicorn stepped forward. Dipping its head, it grazed my left hand with its horn. Everything shone when it connected with my palm, while tiny droplets of blood sprang out from my pierced skin. I stared at the mark and then back at the brown eyes. After a moment, the unicorn shifted away, and the warm, protecting connection between us was lost.

I turned to Odios and said weakly, "My left hand, blood drawn. It means I am a real Slytherin." What would have been satisfaction earlier wasn't inside me. All I felt was confusion. I turned toward the school, walking without seeing. I had fought off whatever had been compelling me to take my wand out and physically hurt her before. Yet at the same time, the course of action I had chosen hardly left me feeling any sense of victory or accomplishment. When it came down to it, was I myself any better than Cathleen? Even though I had acted on my own accord, I had still given in to my personal temptation. What if someone else had heard me? Panic over that fought with the guilt for dominance. Even though I had convinced myself I had reason to do it, that didn't negate the fact that it had been a stupid fit of temper. Not very Slytherin...

I looked at my hand, feeling disgust, and the glowing returned. Only this time, it was accompanied by searing pain. I stopped, terrified, as words spread over my left hand in a silvery white that matched the unicorn's color. It read: No One Is Just One Real Thing, Least Of All YOU. Curled around the last O was the outline of a white snake, rattling its tail at me and hissing a malicious laughter that had petrified me when I'd heard it in my dreams.

Anger built, and I looked up at the dark clouds gathering, saying through clenched teeth, "I am whatever I _decide _to make of myself!" The laughing stopped, and my hand returned to normal. The clouds parted, but not without a last warning thunder. I looked ahead, seeing clearly now, though my heart still pounded. I struggled to calm myself, to steel. If whatever the thing haunting me was thought me just some sniveling, weak Mudblood, it was as gravely mistaken as everyone else. I was in control of myself. My personal motivations were the only things to which I would ever respond. I had overcome everything put in my way before, and whatever was disturbing me now would be no different. Cruel or kind, good or evil, everything I did was under my control. I believed this with every breath of my being. Whatever was causing the dreams, visions, and apparitions would not succeed. I didn't know what it was about yet, but I fought my own battles, and I always won.


	9. Chapter 9: Sacrificial Pagan Holidays, o...

**Chapter 9: Sacrificial Pagan Holidays, or Halloween**   


"You're not evil," I said impatiently for the thousandth time. I was sitting on the floor in Dash's room watching him pace. He didn't seem to be listening to me, so I turned my attention to the history book lying next to me. The annual Halloween party was only a week or so away, and the commotion in the dorms and common rooms had been to distracting. I was going to the library when I had been way sided by the curious sight of Dash pacing. 

  
  
He finally turned to me, his face troubled. "Yes I am, Tom. I'm a horrible person." 

  
  
I rolled my eyes and said monotonously, "No, you're not. You can't be evil just by breaking up with your girlfriend. It's in the manual. Eating her, yes, breaking up, no." 

  
  
"Eating her?" Dash gave me an odd look, but when I stared back uncomprehendingly he shrugged with a small smile before continuing on with his self-pitying rant. I truly did not need to be in the room for this – he had been going on before I'd entered, and barely seemed to acknowledge that I was there, he was in such turmoil. Still, it was better than being with anyone else, in my mind, so I remained as he added, "And I did it right before our anniversary, and the party!" 

  
  
"Oh, I hadn't realized that. In that case, you're right. Grindelwald, step aside. Long live the new Dark Lord. May I get you the heart of a child or some puppies to snack on?" 

  
  
At the he stopped and glowered at me, muttering, "I shouldn't expect a child to understand." 

  
  
I stood up, my patience running thin. "The why did you bring it up to me? I have studying to do." I made a move to exit when Dash stopped me. 

  
  
Contritely he offered, "Sorry, Tom. I-it's just that none of the other Slytherins could understand my going out with her in the first place. They are all glad that I broke it off. But you-" 

  
  
"You thought I'd be more sympathetic?" I asked. When he nodded, I sighed, and then said, "Well, I am sorry. I liked Gail. But you won't even say what went wrong." 

  
  
At that he balked. Refusing to meet my eyes, he muttered, "It's private." 

  
  
"That's fine. I respect that. But sitting here whining about it won't do anyone any good. All I can say is, if you had your reasons, then move on. I'm sure she will." I couldn't really see what the big deal was, but then, I'd never loved someone. Dash looked like he wanted to say more, but clamped up.   


  
Sighing again, he gave me a worn smile, and said, "Given what I told you, that's reasonable advice. When did eleven year olds get so wise?" He tossed my book at me as he said this.   


  
Laughing, I said in mock anger, "I'll be twelve soon. Twelve going on forty." 

  
  
Dash looked surprised at this. "You're birthday's coming up?" 

  
  
At that I looked down. In a low voice I said, "Well - not really. I mean, maybe it is." I took a deep breath and finally explained. "I have no idea when my real birthday is. There's no record of my birth; at least, none at the orphanage. Mrs. Blunt - she's the wife of the owner of the orphanage - she told me that it would be fitting to make my birthday the same day as Halloween. I didn't bother explaining to her that it is celebrating the eve of All Saints Day, not really seen as something demonic. It's not as if we celebrated it, anyway." 

  
  
Dash looked sympathetic. I quickly smiled and shrugged, saying, "It's nothing, really. I never saw the point of celebrating being alive for another year. It just means that you're one year closer to dying." 

  
  
At the grim look Dash then gave, I decided to keep this opinion of mine to myself as well. He said, "That's - really sad, Tom. Not that I can blame you for seeing it that way." Then he brightened, and said with fake enthusiasm, "It's like the story of our House's founder." 

  
  
At the mention of Salazar I felt uneasy. Dash didn't seem to notice, continuing, "Salazar's birth was also a mystery. He just kind of appeared in society when he was about sixteen. He was a self-proclaimed visionary. He said that he saw Merlin, who hasn't been heard of in centuries, and that Merlin told him the deepest secrets of magic. This apparition supposedly happened on Halloween as well, so he claimed that date was the day he was truly born. We have no other date to celebrate him on." 

  
  
He must have seen my blanched face, for he quickly added, "It's not exactly like your story, but it's similar - Tom?"   


  
"I-I have to go study," I mumbled, heading out the door. Dash didn't stop me, and I rushed out of the Slytherin rooms, not stopping till I had cleared the dungeon. Salazar's name had been haunting me for weeks now. Once out, I tried to regain control of my breathing. Several Ravenclaws passed me and turned to stare curiously. Trying to look inconspicuous, I straightened and headed for the library to think. The library itself was being re-hauled, having received a large donation of books and scrolls from Romania's History of Magic and Mayhem Library. Just the other day I had been busy helping Madame Acadima the librarian restack shelves. There had been several histories of the founders of Hogwarts. 

  
  
Right after the unicorn incident, I searched the entire school for information on possession, ghosts, and visions, anything that might explain what I was experiencing. Finding nothing, and not trusting any of the professors, I had reread everything on file that I had taken from the Blunts. I was trying to figure out even a shred about myself that might relate to whatever was after me. Immediately I recognized the name that my mother had written to. Salazar. I had looked the name up, finding it had been a common name in the magic community's history. There was also a group of people in the early 1900s that had formed a cult, believing Salazar Slytherin had ascended to godlike state in his death. They worshiped and prayed to him as some do to the great Merlin. However, the cult lost popularity soon after its creation, mostly because no magic requests asked of Salazar went answered. It surprised me that magicians would believe in such things, but the timing would have been perfect for my mother to be a member. My heart softened. In her letter she didn't seem like the believing type, but had apparently cared enough about me to go to Salazar, no doubt as a last resort. I refused to believe that she had simply been another crazy follower.  


  
So either my mother had known someone named Salazar, or she had entreated the original one on hers and my behalf. It made sense, but yet, I still felt that I was missing something. The library and especially the new books offered an immense amount of information and speculation on my new subject of interest. I picked one out and sat down, trying to ignore the commotion around me. My eyes soaked the information in. He had been tall and bony, with thick black hair and eyes either blue or black in color. On that, the sources contradicted. He had been left-handed. Every teacher he had said that he was the finest student they'd ever seen, and his best subject was Transfiguration. Many people in the community distrusted him for his ambition and talent, fearing his thirst for knowledge without regard to law or morality. Others, obviously, worshipped him. He founded Hogwarts with three other great magicians, and one of his closest confidants was fellow founder Godric Gryffindor. However, each had been too stubborn in their ideals. Salazar believed that only those of pure blood should attend Hogwarts, for only they had the ancient blood flowing in them that would enable them to reach the deepest levels of magic. Gryffindor felt a noble being, regardless of heritage, was most important. Obviously, Salazar lost that debate. The later years of his life were less informative. Supposedly he went insane. Some said it was from practicing the "Dark Arts," while others said his visions possessed him. Oh, and he was the only recorded Parseltongue in history. 

  
  
I sat still once my gaze saw that, the noise of Acadima piling books falling deaf to me. The similarities between Salazar and myself were growing more surreal. I pushed the book away from me, brooding. One of my hands absently spun my wand on the table, my teeth lightly biting my bottom lip in frustration. I was missing something, I could feel it. Finally, I ripped a blank parchment out and wrote down everything that came into my mind in my lopsided scrawl. 

  
  
Salazar Slytherin   
Birth date-Halloween   
Physicality- tall, bony, black hair, black/blue eyes   
Character- Visions (of Merlin, unknown symbols, his own death) Left-handed, good at Transfiguration, Parseltongue, Ambitious, Feared, Revered, founded Slytherin, Muggle-hater, and Insane 

  
  
Mother- member of Salazar's cult. Married a Muggle. Died in childbirth/right after I was born. Didn't receive help. (That I know) 

  
  
Tom Marvolo Riddle   
Birth date-Halloween   
Physicality- tall, bony, black hair, blue eyes   
Character- Visions (unknown symbols, phoenix, flying, laughter, skeletal man in cloak, green-eyed boy with scar), left-handed, good at Transfiguration, Parseltongue, in Slytherin, ambitious, sanity questionable 

  
  
Left-handed - sinister, unusual, powerful   
Phoenix - resurrection, change   
Parseltongue - communicate/control snakes   
Snakes - wise, powerful, symbol of temptation, potent   
Vision s- associated with dark magic, sign of great danger/power 

  
  
After I had finished, I looked over what I had written, then sighed again loudly in frustration. Acadima gave me an annoyed look, which I ignored. If only some of the loopholes could be filled in. Who was my mother? Why would she, if a supporter of Salazar, marry a Muggle? How could I have been put in Slytherin if I weren't pure blooded? What was that guardian angel Snicks had spoken of? Or the man at the orphanage? Was Salazar finally repaying my mother for her request by allowing me into Slytherin, and preventing me from killing Trevor? Was that why I so closely resemble Salazar? Was he the one controlling me? That didn't seem right; no, it wasn't that –

  
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Riddle," An unwelcome voice made me jump. Standing beside me was Dumbledore. I scurried to close all of my books and turn over all papers, while Dumbledore merely looked curious.   


  
"What, sir?" I asked, trying to appear unsuspicious. My hand jumped for my chain. 

  
  
Dumbledore looked hard at me, then said, "Your paper on the Morality in Magical Education was the only A I gave out. It was the finest work I've seen to date on the subject by a student. Superior to some scholars, even." His look was caught somewhere between admiration and vigilance. "You have obviously done outside research." 

  
  
"Is that wrong?" I asked. The parchment with my thoughts on Salazar was teetering on the edge of the table, fluttering from the wind outside the window next to me. I wanted to snatch it to safety, but that might draw too much attention to it in front of Dumbledore. I forced my eyes off of the paper I had written. 

  
  
Dumbledore seemed in no hurry to move on. He rested his hands on the back of the dark wood chair, his long fingers running over the carved designs on its back. "Not at all, Mr. Riddle. I admire such initiative. Of course, the paper was just supposed to be three to five pages, and you submitted ten." 

  
  
"I had a lot to say. I couldn't fit it into five pages," I answered mechanically, all the while thinking_, go away!_ The paper was now trailing the edge of the desk, almost on the windowsill.   


  
Dumbledore sighed. "Well, I could see that. And it was a fantastic bit of work. But, Mr. Riddle, when a professor asks you for something specific, they might have a reason that they don't give you. The assignment was for three to five pages." 

  
  
The paper was dipping, the wind grabbing it. My eyes darting, I barely got out, "I wanted to be thorough sir. I don't see the problem with giving you more pages than you asked - it's not like I cursed it or anything. I'm sorry if I caused trouble." 

  
  
"No, Mr. Riddle, you didn't - Tom, are you quite alright?" Dumbledore asked me. 

  
  
My eyes never met him. "Yes _– _NO!" My worst fear answered, the paper had suddenly flown out the window. I jumped up, threw all the books into my bag and ran out, saying to Dumbledore, "I have to go NOW!" 

  
  
I hadn't a clue if he responded. My legs pounded, I skid down the halls, and ignoring the angry cries from the people I accidentally shoved. All I could think about was if someone like Damien, or Dippet, got hold of that paper. Even though I didn't know what it held yet, I knew letting it get out would cause me large troubles. Randy met me at the door, his smile turning into hurt confusion as I pushed past him into the darkening sky. I raced outside, my heart pounding in my ears. I looked everywhere outside the library window, then around all of the school grounds in case the wind had carried it. I couldn't go to groundskeeper Zwipp, because I couldn't tell him what it was about. I searched fruitlessly, as the sky darkened into night. Finally, after hours of searching, I slumped down next to the side of Hogwarts, my eyes filling with tears of frustration. I was no closer to an answer to my questions, and I had possibly jeopardized my entire future at Hogwarts. I sat there through dinner, dwelling in my misery. Only hours later, stiff from the cold, did I venture back to the Slytherin Commons. 

"Troubles?" Randy's voice pierced my thoughts, his lisp aggravating to me at the moment. He and Simon were seated on the floor with the other first years. Second years sat nearer the fire, and upperclassmen had taken over the sofas and tables. It was an unspoken rule during study times where people positioned themselves. Simon was actually nearer the fire then normal, as he was assisting a third year on some history. His knowledge of the history of magic made me desire to get closer to him, while at the same time I jealously wanted to think nothing of him. Outwardly I remained civil, though. Simon was the closest to having a trace of Ravenclaw in him besides myself among the first years. I tolerated – possibly even liked – him best after Dash. 

Everyone paused in their work, the word trouble automatically bringing everyone's heads up. Upon seeing it was in relation to me, most of the elder students put their heads back down. Randy finished writing his name on a piece of homework suspiciously not in his handwriting, adding, "Did someone not receive an O?" 

"Nothing wrong with crying over that," Simon commented absently, giving me a faint smile that I weakly returned. 

"I heard Mudblood tears stink," Cathleen called out loudly. She was seated at one of the tables. As Damien's girlfriend, she could take such a spot.

Randy turned around, made sure Damien wasn't about, and then said, "Not nearly as much as that retort, luv. Go see the unicorns again, and maybe they'll swipe some wit into your head this time." The room fell into snickers, and Randy beamed with pride. It was clear that showing his wit was probably more meaningful than defending me. Turning back to me, he said innocently, "It's probably best to take your mind off whatever it is bothering you."

My smile did become a bit wry though my insides were still jittery. I replied back, "by tutoring you, right?" 

Randy's grin became sheepish, but he nodded. "You're annoyingly good at just about everything. I'd hate to see it should you develop a complex." He turned to Simon as if to concur with him. Simon's smile seemed a bit tight at Randy's words, but he gave a shrug in the affirmative. 

"Little chance of a complex," I commented, more grumbling to myself. I hadn't accomplished anything of late, merely botching things up. But my ego was still strong enough to enjoy his words and find truth in them. I sat down on the floor and began to help him. It only took moments, and with my insincere compliments of 'well done' and such, he walked away pleased with himself and thanking me. Slowly, a few other students came over with requests. I was immensely tired, but I wouldn't turn anyone down. I'd be insane to reject the chance to assist an upperclassman. Shifting closer to the fire, nearer than Simon, I prepared myself for a long night. My concerns of earlier didn't fade, however. 

They only grew as the days went by.

  
  
"Halloween is my favorite holiday!" groundskeeper Zwipp informed me for the thousandth time. I nodded, whipping sweat from my eyes. It was now the day of the annual Halloween feast, and I was helping Zwipp make preparations. We were moving impossibly large pumpkins into the main rooms, and decorating all of the bushes and trees with oddly shaped decorations. All the while I was mounting goblin grease and bats' wings to the evergreens, I was searching for my parchment in vain. It had now been missing for six days. I had barely been able to concentrate on anything I was so terrified. Anytime Damien approached me or made a snide Mudblood comment, I froze, ready for him to whip it out. So far, no one had said anything, and I was beginning to have hope that it simply disappeared into no one's hands. 

  
  
"Know why Halloween is my favorite holiday, Tom?" Zwipp asked me. He was from just north of Newcastle, where the orphanage had been. Ever since he found that out about me, guessing it from my accent, he had become much friendlier to me. I smiled and shook my head at him. I was in no desire to lose the friendship or acceptance of anyone who offered it to me now. 

  
  
Zwipp's cagey eyes twinkled. "Because Dippet's wife always comes! Have you seen her, Tommy?" 

  
  
I laughed at the look on his face. "No, sir."   


  
"Ah, you won't be able to miss her!" Zwipp was practically salivating. "She's a beautiful creature, she is."   


  
Amusement caused me the first bit of relief I'd had in a long time. Trying to keep a straight face, I said, "I'll look out for her, sir."   


  
"Ah, you do that, my boy! But remember, it's only the_ men she recognizes." Zwipp winked at me knowingly. I nodded back, leaving him to his lustful fantasies. We worked well into the afternoon, when I came inside and helped Professor Charisma Vallandora, my charms teacher, decorate the inside grand hall. It was actually a great chance for me to work on my levitation charms, as we both lifted the pumpkins and decorations high into the ceiling. Then she taught me the spell to get them to maintain levitation without our having to keep watching them or hold our wands at them. It was apparently learned in the third year, but I easily picked it up. Both she and Professor Thistle who was also helping were astonished, and I smiled proudly. Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, and the Baron who were floating around in excitement applauded, though their hands made no sounds. In the few hours remaining before the feast, I finally relaxed. I had not had any visions since the unicorn incident, no one had brought up the missing parchment, and I had boosted my grade in my Creatures class up to the highest in my grade. _

  
  
I even maintained my smile as Dippet and Dumbledore entered. Professor Vallandora excitedly told them of my success, and Dippet clasped me on the shoulder proudly. I hid my flinch, for I still disliked being touched, but the gesture made me feel even more satisfaction. 

  
  
Dumbledore seemed to give me a genuine smile, as he said, "There doesn't seem to be any class that can fully challenge you, Mr. Riddle. I hope we aren't boring you." 

  
  
"No, sir, of course not," I replied. 

  
  
Dumbledore and Dippet exchanged looks, and then Dumbledore said, "Well, that's a bit unfortunate, Mr. Riddle, since we thought you might be in the mood for a bigger challenge."   


  
My interests perked. "What challenge?" I asked eagerly. Dumbledore and Dippet laughed at my enthusiasm, and then Dumbledore asked me to follow him to his office. I hurried to keep up, as he threw back at me, "I have a proposal for you. While we discuss it, and other matters, perhaps you could help me with some tasks." 

  
  
"Of course," I agreed. We reached his office, the small square dwelling with the numerous paintings and maps moving in the background. A phoenix, his phoenix, sat behind him squawking. I had encountered his bird, with its crimson coloring and gold tail, when I had first worked for Dumbledore sorting his magic rulers. Its name was Fawkes, and he didn't seem to like me very much. He always tried to bite me while I worked around him. Internally I told him I'd let him rot in the smoke if he were in my vision. Maybe it was because Dumbledore had him as a pet that he had been so interested to know about that part of my vision.   


  
When we reached his office I was dying to know what the challenge was. I felt like a little child - my age, really - in the way I couldn't stop smiling and shifting. Dumbledore must have noticed the change in my demeanor, for he seemed pleasantly surprised. He teasingly told me that first I had to do my work for him.   


  
He pointed to a table, where a grid sat suspended in the air. I walked over to it curiously. Dumbledore followed, explaining how it worked. The grid supposedly contained information on animal, or Animagus, transformation. He said that to open the information, the code must be broken. Then he stepped away, leaving me staring at it blankly. I looked back at him, received no help, and then turned forward. Staring at it, I walked close up towards it. It was covered in strange symbols that I couldn't understand---if I couldn't read them, how was I supposed to break the code? I was about to voice my complaint when I noticed a pattern that kept shifting. The third block of red on the top row repeated in the ninth. It was followed with a blue one, which then reappeared on the sixth row. The third one was blank, and the pattern kept jumping every three squares. It took me watching it once through before I calmly reached out my hand, pressing the first red, third blue, second red, fourth blank, sixth blue, third red, ninth blue. At that moment, a thin reed reached from beneath my thumb, poking through my skin. I jerked my hand back, too curious to complain. After the needle receded, the grid spun for a moment, shone bright gold, and then opened, revealing…nothing, it seemed to me. Air.   


  
I smiled, turning back to Dumbledore, who shook his head and said slowly, "Do you know what you've done?"   


  
I shrugged, smiling nervously and with a hint of excitement. "It was just a logic math puzzle. This is my lucky day, I think." My self-deprecation was in direct contrast to the true feeling of my ego, though I wasn't entirely sure what I had accomplished. But it was clearly something quite large, and for that, my smile increased.   


  
Dumbledore came up close to me, his eyes shining but his face serious. He started to grip me, saw my shrinking, then settled for just stooping down to look at me. "It is more than that, Tom. Figuring out the puzzle itself isn't the most amazing part - well, no, I take that back. You figured it out quicker than anyone, which is most impressive. I timed you - you beat the quickest score, mine, by seven and a half minutes minutes. But that is not what is so astounding." His look indecipherable to me, he said, "That grid has been here for a long time - since the founders of Hogwarts, actually. It is said to have been created by them as a – testing - device, though it never was implemented. I just needed to be sure -"   


  
"Sure of what?" I asked, almost jumping and shouting I was so anxious. Dumbledore had risen and was now pacing, his hands locked behind his back. He took a moment, and then turned to me, putting me out of my misery. "You are the finest student of Transfiguration I have ever seen, Mr. Riddle. However, it remains that you are still a first year. I was debating the benefits of quickening your studies, though everyone is pushing me to do so. Scholastically, yes, you are plenty advanced. But still, the idea of pushing any eleven year old is unsettling to me."   


  
He paused again, and I couldn't take it anymore. Taking a deep breath, I said tentatively, "Professor?" He turned, and I quickly got out, "Please, sir, I'm not following you. Could you explain what happened?"   


  
At that Dumbledore smiled slightly, then said, "Well, that would only be fair, wouldn't it, since I put you through that? All right. That grid is an Animagus test - the only one in existence, I believe, though some might be covering others up. It normally is not necessary - a student, through years of training, comes to realize their capabilities and talents. In fact, just because someone does not pass the test does not mean that they will never be an Animagus. Their potential might not be realized yet. Therefore, the test, only if positive, proves whether someone is an Animagus or not. I suspected with your acceleration at Transfiguration that you were one, and now that has been proven." He searched me while saying, "Congratulations, Mr. Riddle."   


  
I felt confused, slowly saying, "Then what was with the puzzle? Is _that the test?" The blood taking seemed the important part to me, though why it came after the logic game, I wasn't sure. Perhaps to test cognitive development. Well, I had no worries there.  
_

  
Dumbledore laughed. "No," he said. "The blood prick tests if there is the innate gift of Animagi magic within the person. The puzzle itself was supposed to tell if the student in question was ready to be trained as an Animagus mentally. You see though, it only tests analytical skills, nothing whatsoever of the emotional or psychological level of the student. Therefore the founders, especially Godric, felt it was an insufficient test. I took it after I came to teach here, well after I was an Animagus, and felt it was an insufficient teaching tool. You are the first - special---case that I have used it on, though I still doubt its usefulness. Of course, the one who is said to have designed the puzzle felt that it tested all that was necessary - that was Salazar."   


  
At the mention of his name I went numb again. Dumbledore immediately noticed this with his keen eyes and called me on it. "That name strike something in you, Mr. Riddle?"   


  
"N-No sir," I lied hastily. "I am just wondering why you feel I can't learn to be an Animagus?"   


  
Dumbledore sighed, then patiently said, "I did not say that, Mr. Riddle. I said that you definitely have the potential and ability to become an Animagus---in time. Technically, could you start learning now? Most definitely, I'd say. But is it in your best interests, to be pulled out of your regular Transfiguration class, and be pushed---of that I am questioning. And I am afraid the decision rests with me. I question my judgment in bringing this up to you at all, but I don't want to hold you back either." At this he gave me a troubled look. "It isn't easy having a student like you, Mr. Riddle."   


  
"Well, it isn't a walk at the park for me either," I said. Then I added, shifting, "But I want to do it, sir. If I can, if it's in me, I have to go for it. I don't mind being pushed---I can handle it. I have to do it."   


  
"Have too?" at that Dumbledore pressed his hands to his temples. He laughed hollowly, its echoing seeming strangely out of place. Finally he looked back up at me. "Mr. Riddle, have you been having visions?"   


  
That turned my stance to stone. I paused, collecting myself, before saying slowly, "Where did you find it?"   


  
Dumbledore at least gave me the credit not to play ignorant. He motioned to Fawkes, replying, "Fawkes brought it to me - I wasn't sure at first whose it was, but then I recognized your writing. I thought someone was just taking notes for an assignment. But once I realized whose it was---Tom, is there something going on?"   


  
I tried to find my voice. "It's mine. May I have it?" Dumbledore walked to his desk and took the crumpled paper out from a hidden drawer and handed it to me. Shaking, I took it, as he continued.   


  
"Tom---I am here to help you. If you have any questions or problems, I want to help you." 

  
  
_Yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you?_ I thought angrily. _If I came crawling to you, asking you for help, like a good little Mudblood orphan should, right?_ I said tightly, "Can you tell me who my mother is?"   


  
At that, Dumbledore had no answer. "I'm sorry, Tom. I have no records of who you're mother was. You see, we, the magical community, only knew you existed when you were sixteen months. That is when you first used, unintentionally I am sure, your magical ability. That is quite early-we were interested in you from then on."   


  
"So you watched me from then on, living in that orphanage?" I couldn't believe it. Had he, Dippet, and the lot of them just sat and watched me be taunted, ignored, and tortured for all those years and done nothing?   


  
Dumbledore shook his head. "It doesn't work like that," he insisted. "You were not part of our community yet – we had no means to know all of the particulars of your living situation. What little we did know about you we only learned after you accepted our admissions. All we knew of was your talent. Before that, we left you alone - it would be too dangerous to have exposed you in the open like that, until you chose this life."   


  
"Then what about the people who came to the Christmas party?" I accused. My temper was running high, and I was too sick of being left in the dark unknowing to think before spurting this out.   


  
Dumbledore, naturally, jumped on it like a cat. "What people?" he demanded. When I balked, he forcefully grabbed me by the shoulders and commanded, "Tell me, Tom. What people?"   


  
His voice scared me. I felt like I was under the Blunts accusing glares again, and whispers of _demon_ filled my head. In a whisper I said, "There were two people who came to the Christmas part at the orphanage last year. One was a man, with eyes like yours, and the other was a woman." I couldn't take his intensity anymore. I softly said, "Let me go."   


  
Dumbledore, realizing he had been gripping me to the point of bruising, immediately withdrew. Drenched, he slumped in his chair, rubbing his temples. In the same odd voice he said, "With eyes like mine." 

  
  
I looked around wildly, searching for a way out. I too was drenched, and I felt stifling under my robes in his small office, smothered in some sweet smelling perfume. Lamely I said, "I have to get ready for the party now."   


  
Dumbledore still had not moved, so I began making my way out. Right before I left he stopped me. "Tom---I have to think about this. Is there anything - _anything_ - else that you can tell me? Even if it doesn't sound important?" 

  
  
I winced and turned, bidding the fleeing visions to leave me. Empty and defeated I said dully, "Nothing, sir." Then I opened the door and slid out, grateful beyond words he did not call me back. 

  
  
I had not been looking forward to the Halloween party before, and now it definitely wasn't on my to do list. I stood in the corner of the grand hall, having just made an inconspicuous arrival. The Slytherin common rooms had been empty when I had returned from Dumbledore's. My bed had looked inviting after the hellish day that I had, my aching head begging for simple respite. But I knew that Dumbledore would be there, so I had to make an appearance. I had quickly taken a shower, freezing as usual since no warm water ever reached the drafty dungeons. I had slipped into one of the old clothes Dumbledore had given me, somewhat respectable after they had been washed a few times. Throwing my dress robe over my head, I gave an envious good-bye to Snicks who was curled up on my bed and headed out.   


  
The hall was beautiful. I might even have said that if I hadn't basically decorated the whole thing. It had been fun, actually, since I was never allowed to partake in any of the festivities back at the orphanage. Rudolph had nothing on me. I was busy looking at the food the elves prepared. There were cakes that had been enchanted to change into looking either scary or frightened, and drinks that screamed if someone tried to sip from one of them. I was basically trying anything to avoid thinking about what my mind was really focused on - my talk with Dumbledore. 

  
  
"And here's our most promising first year!" the voice of Headmaster Dippet pulled me back into reality. I turned and stock smiled at him, noticing the woman hanging on his arm. She was a tall, thin woman, looking mature but not old. Her hair was pure white, and her eyes glowed gold. She was dressed in a clingy gown that revealed all one wanted, according to Wynn. I stared at her; she clearly was not completely human. I wondered if she was a witch?   


  
The woman smiled dazzlingly, and then cooed, "Oh, Armando, he's adorable." 

  
  
I felt my face turn red with embarrassment and delight. No one had ever called me adorable looking before---tall I got, and too thin, and often conceited, but never anything good. I said smoothly back, "Thank you, Ma'am."   


  
At that she threw her straw-colored hair back and laughed. "Oh, what an accent, as well! You're voice is very musical. Do you sing as well?"   


  
"Erm - well, a bit," I started to tell her, when my attention was grabbed by something to my side. A dark shadow was growing out from under one of the food tables. I tried to turn my attention back to Dippet and his wife, but I couldn't pull my eyes away. Slowly the shadow took shape and color. I saw myself being formed on the ground, but I was slowly morphing. My hands grew scales, my eyes turned blood red. My shadow self was looking at me in horror---but the horror was slowly fading into acceptance---and then delight. A cruel smile drew up the white lips, and a horrible cackling laugh sang from the lips of the image. I heard Dippet speaking to me, but it was as if I were under water.   


  
My image beckoned to me, and I drew close against my will. My image was pointing, and I looked up in time to see the skeletal man with the oozing symbols that I had seen at the Leaky Cauldron. His only human feature was a thick beard, which struck me until his movement forced my attention away from that detail. He was standing with his hands grasped around the neck of a small child. The child was reaching out to me, pleading like the phoenix. I heard the hissing laughter above me, as my image self cackled and told me to join the skeletal figure. I looked at the boy, feeling remorse, and guilt----but incredible hatred and anger at the same time. The laughter increased, as did the image taunted me to move. I had too---I couldn't stand the guilt---but I wanted to join the strangling of the boy as well. It was as if each of them represented something I wanted to destroy, something extreme within me that I had to break out of. Finally I could take it no longer. I rushed in frantically, pulling out my wand, trying to separate the two figures---but whether I wanted to then kill them myself I did not know. I turned to the boy, and I reached for him, for the hands wringing his neck---   


  
"Riddle!" the shock drove me back to consciousness. I realized that I was on the floor, still convulsing. Froth came out of my mouth, and I saw the looks of terror on everyone's face. I heard yells of, "He's possessed!" and "No, he's Muggle, he's having an epileptic fit!" "Maybe it's a spell!" 

  
  
I felt dizzy and sick, as waves of darkness swept over me. I couldn't speak coherently, but I tried to push all the blurry faces crowding me away. Breathing was too hard, and I felt the trembling increase. I whimpered, the only sound I could make, as I heard Dumbledore command, "Everyone, back away! You! Get the nurse! Dippet, some water! Tom, Tom, can you hear me?" 

  
  
For once I felt nothing but relief that he was there, actually knowing what to do. His hand was over my forehead, his voice soothing to me, and telling me to relax, trying to calm me. It was beyond comforting, probably because I never expected it. Trying to speak, I weakly coughed out in tremulous words, "I-saw - some - where they…really…" 

  
  
The compassion in Dumbledore's eyes glazed over with somber concern. Grimly he said, "No visions?" And I had no reply, the warmth he had been giving me slowly dissipating under the weight his words carried.


	10. Chapter 10: Promises Are Made to Be Brok...

**Chapter 10: Promises Are Made To Be Broken **

Voices swam somewhere next to me. In and out they faded, sometimes so loud they made me cringe, other times so faint they seemed little more than a breeze. Heaviness followed, a sensation weighing me down and pulling me back into the safety of sleep. I almost let it. But then a bright light was thrust into my face. The voices became more persistent, bearing down straight at me. I struggled awake, my head aching terribly. I forced my eyes open only to feel them tear at the abrupt shock of the brightness. A rush of heat ran throughout my body, followed by a sudden chill. It was the feeling that one experiences right before throwing up. I swallowed repeatedly, desperately trying to prevent that humiliation. I looked around, moving only my eyes, trying to find something to divert my attention from my stomach and head. Simple facts seemed the easiest to try and focus on.

I was in the infirmary. That I could tell by the starkness of my surroundings. The nurse, Madame Drawt, was hovering stiflingly close on one side of me. On the other side were Dippet, Dumbledore, and Thistle. They were all talking extremely heatedly and loudly, ignoring me completely. I shut my eyes, sweating yet trembling at the same time. Images kept flashing back at me. Bright eyes staring, harsher than the lamp shining scorchingly above me. I tried to kick the scratching covers off me, but the motion only made me feel queasier. My movement went noticed, and suddenly the chattering around me ceased. 

"Tom?" Nurse Drawt said tentatively, putting her frigid hand against my flushed cheek. The contact sent chills through me. She continued speaking, eying me worriedly, "Do you feel all right?" 

I didn't have the energy to be smart or lie. Gulping, I rasped, "No! I'm going to be sick!" Everyone just stared at me for a moment, taking in visually what I felt, and then sprang into motion. Dippet moved back, protecting his suit, while Nurse Drawt went looking for some magic purge bucket. I sat upright, shaking, trying to compel my rebelling stomach into submission. I had never been willing to show myself as sick in public before. With the Headmaster and professors there, I fought valiantly. Unfortunately, just as Nurse Drawt was returning, I lost the battle. A sudden convulsion racked me, and I threw up all over the bed and myself. 

For a moment after that, I heard nothing. I refused to look up, my eyes welling in humiliation. I sat with my knees drawn up and wrapped my arms around them. Then I rested my head on my hands, as much for comfort as to bring myself under control. I vaguely heard the Nurse shooing everyone out, then placing the bucket gingerly at the foot of my bed. Dippet and Thistle voiced their concerns for me as they exited, neither coming within three feet of my actual personage. Dumbledore put up a protest, and I could hear him and the Nurse arguing outside. She was insisting it was the flu, as Dippet had said. I didn't hear the rest of the conversation. My stomach was acting up again. In privacy now, I retched until I had nothing left inside me. Finally, I sat back. Winded and drenched, I watched in mild fascination as the bucket I had used magically became spotless. Eventually the Nurse came back in, carrying a change of clothing for me. Dully, I pulled them on. 

"Tom?" That voice made me look up. Dumbledore had reentered. He stood in the doorway, the worn white ridging framing his tall physic. He tossed me a new blanket. As I spread it around me, he approached. Towering over me, I had to crane my neck to look up at him as he spoke. "Can I speak with you for a moment?" 

"Of course, sir," I responded. I fought to make my voice and posture as proper as I could, to belie how I felt. I laid the pillow against the cold headboard and sat upright, staring at him. His clothing had changed as well. No longer dressed in the dark red dress robe with black velvet trimmings, he was now clad in his old blue work robes. He took off his old dropping hat and carefully placed it on the small table beside my bed. He didn't look at a loss for words; rather, he seemed about to overflow with them and had to sort out how to begin. I sympathized with that feeling. Right now everything was colliding inside my head so fast I couldn't sort out a coherent thought if my life depended upon it. 

Finally, Dumbledore said, "Interesting night." I nodded my agreement, still at a loss for words. He continued, "There has been a great deal on my mind about you these past two months, Mr. Riddle. I don't have so many answers as I do…uncertainties." 

My throat tightened, but I croaked out, "I'm not doing it on purpose, these things. I swear to God." The swear slipped out. It was something I'd heard at the orphanage often enough that it was engrained in my subconscious. I grimaced internally at that, chastising myself and fervently promising never to use it again under any circumstances. 

Dumbledore gave me an odd look in response to my words. "Well, good for that," he muttered. Then, clasping his hands behind his back, he added lowly, "How to go about this? It should be Dippet, really, but he told me to handle it. Well, Mr. Riddle, we'll start at the beginning, shall we? Always a good place. Now, what did you see tonight?" 

"A man…I think… I saw a tall man, more of a skeleton, really. He had markings on his body. They seemed to have something, maybe blood, oozing out of him." I tried to push my thoughts into order, rubbing my aching forehead. 

Dumbledore was persistent, though he thankfully kept his voice soft. "What else did the man look like? And what symbols were they? Have you seen this before?" 

"I-I'm not sure," My brain was foggy and any memories I had of the figure were fading fast. I looked at Dumbledore helplessly. "I can't remember." 

Dumbledore leaned over me, urging me on with his voice. "Try, Tom. I know it is hard, but it is very important." 

I closed my eyes, willing for once the visions to return. My voice trembling, I whispered, "The mark was - a serpent's head, with crossbones - it was covering the man - the thing – sometimes it's a skull with a white snake wiggling, and there's a thick dark beard…" 

Dumbledore sucked in a deep breath, and then said encouragingly, "Good, Tom. Keep going, what else did you see?" 

I squeezed my eyes tight, grasping. "And there was an image on the floor. It was of a snake man. I mean, first it was me, I think, but then it became this half snake-half man creature. And it was laughing." Sweat broke out all over me. "I heard the laughing before, when I had the image of the phoenix dying - it did die in my other vision, at my first flying lesson - the laughter was malicious and smug, as if it knew something I didn't-" I broke out of the memories, panting. I looked at Dumbledore with pleading eyes. "Please don't make me try anymore." 

He seemed lost in his own thoughts, saying to himself, "I suspected." Silence ensued for a couple of seconds, then he responded, "I won't press you further, though if you remember anything else, come to me immediately." He toyed with his beard, staring into space before continuing. "I don't know if I should be telling you this, but perhaps you should know. The man that you saw, the one with the symbols, I suspect is Grindelwald. Are you familiar with him?" 

I'd heard little rumblings about that name. Slowly I nodded, and Dumbledore continued. "I don't know how he found you. Although, he is a great Seer and Legilimens. And, with your ability, I shouldn't be so surprised. With his following and talents, I am sure he has the same ability to detect potential students as we do." 

"So he is trying to get to me, with these visions?" I asked slowly, fear rising. 

Dumbledore gave me a soothing smile that didn't quite work. "To be honest, I am not sure. He has never attracted students quite this way before. In the past, he usually comes right up to them, offers them the chance to join him, and then either takes them or kills them if they refuse. Subtlety is not his suit." 

"So why is he behaving differently with me?" I inquired, nervously twisting my chain. Its edges were worn smooth by now. 

Dumbledore sighed, and then told me, "Tom, your potential was apparent from the beginning. From the time we first noticed you, your magic ability radiated. Never have we seen someone with so clear a capability. Later, when you came here, it became apparent how gifted you were in other things, and intellectually speaking, you have astounded us as well. We were hoping the fact that you were raised Muggle would deter Grindelwald from noticing you. But perhaps your ability isn't such a handicap." 

"I'm not following you," I said irritably. "And I don't think it's me." 

At that he gave a sad laugh. "No, I don't doubt I'm not making much sense. Even I am not completely sure what I am saying, or thinking. But ponder this - why would Grindelwald be sidestepping you in this manner? If he is trying to enter your mind, which I do not put past his ability to do on most, then why? Does he feel you are to be too valuable an asset to do away with, but he doesn't think a straight offer to join him will work? Or is it to test you, or control you? To compare you with him, in a way?" He gave a slight pause, then said, "Is there some reason he feels drawn to you, to taunt you with visions of snake-men and such? Or it is purely to rattle you, to make you submit to him?" 

At those questions all my terror returned. My mouth dry I said, "I was – I was wondering about that. Is that possible, for him to control me?" 

I don't know if Dumbledore caught the fright in my voice. His face tightened, as if he were berating himself for saying so much. In response to my questions he merely shrugged and said, "I don't know for certain. If he is trying, he's having quite the hard time of it, isn't he?" 

I tried to laugh, remembering the unicorn incident. I had won that one, hadn't I? 

Dumbledore continued. "However, Tom, magic works in many ways. Especially for those as gifted as you." He didn't sound all that admiring as he said that, and continued, "I have little doubt that if he knows of you, Grindelwald would have something in mind. Young recruits are impressionable and excellent targets. But just as strong as dark magic is, there are ways of defending it that are just as primal and powerful. Do not believe in him, should he say otherwise." 

I jerked my head up at that, and saw Dumbledore smiling at me. He nodded at the cross I was fingering, and I irritably shoved my hand down. "I only believe in myself," I said. A moment of silence ensued after that. 

Eyes quietly watching me, he took his time before responding. "If there's one person everyone should believe in, it's themselves," Dumbledore finally said, rising. Did he always talk in riddles? I watched him pace, a question suddenly springing to my mind. 

"Why do you know so much about Grindelwald?" At my comment he stopped, spinning slowly to face me. A twisted, uncomfortable look came over his face, deepening the walls over his eyes. 

"That is a long story. One I'm as keen to go into it as you are about your past." He paused at that and watched at me. I remained motionless, telling him without words that his comment hadn't affected me at all. If anything, I understood where he was coming from more than ever. My hand subconsciously reached for my chain, diverting only when I caught myself at the last minute. Instead I pushed back my matted hair, as Dumbledore bade me goodnight. 

He seemed ready to leave when I suddenly recalled what I desired to tell him. 

"Professor? I remember something---it was the same man I saw at the Leaky Cauldron, when I first met you. He was surrounded by a group of people in robes, with symbols like his---they were chanting something. And his laugh--I've heard it several times, when I feel angry…and maybe at the orphanage…" I hated mentioning that. It made it seem like I'd been close to this darkness for so long and kept it to myself.

My head dropped, and I was afraid to look at him. Afraid he was going to look right back at me in horror and disgust, say I was a demon and risk to the other children and should be cast out. Hearing no loathing snort from him, I raised my head. And he looked back at me not with contempt. But I didn't find kindness there, either. His eyes held the same cautionary interest, guarded but at least not accusing. He merely said, "Thank you, Tom. That is helpful. Anything else?" 

No longer as terrified, I shut my eyes again and tried to recall. "And there was a boy, too. He was at the Leaky Cauldron, and here tonight. Grindelwald was trying to kill him, and I - I think I was trying to help him." 

Dumbledore looked slightly more interested at that. "Did you recognize him? Did he have any special markings?" 

I tried hard, but came up with nothing. "No, I don't think I know him. He was just a just a child. I don't think there was anything remarkable looking about him that I can remember. He was just a child. Maybe his eyes were green? He seemed to be normal. Maybe he represents all the children that Grindelwald is after? I can't think of anything else." 

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "That seems a reasonable interpretation." With that, he smiled at me. "Don't worry about it, Tom. As hard as it is for you, you must trust us. We don't turn our backs on our students. We shall deal with this, I promise you." He moved to turn out the light, and in the darkness I heard him softly add, "And I never break a promise." 

For a long time after I lay in the darkness. I was exhausted and aching, but my mind wouldn't let my rest. I worried that I had left something out, for my thoughts had all been so jumbled and incoherent I couldn't remember even what order anything had occurred. Was this an aftereffect of the visions, or something else? Either way, the episodes were getting worse, and I despised just lying there waiting for the next one to happen. Making up my mind, I swung my legs over the side, grabbing the railings desperately as dizziness swept over me. Thankfully I didn't become nauseous, and after a minute I could rise. In the dark I fumbled to the nearest chair where I had thrown my ruined robed. Finding my wand, I whispered, "Lumos!" immediately a bright band of light hovered before me. Shielding its brightness with my hands, I found my scuffed shoes, slipped into them, and checked the door. I heard snoring, and I hoped that this meant Nurse Drawt was asleep. I edged my way carefully around her semicircular desk that decorated with bright flowers. She snorted once, but otherwise remained unconscious. 

Once outside, I had no clue where to head. It was long after everyone else had gone to bed. I was afraid that Tibald, the caretaker, would catch me. He was a small, wiry man with eyes like a hawk. He distrusted most everyone and everything, and took immense pride in his job. I suppose he found catching people breaking the rules worthwhile. I found it a sad way to fill a life with meaning, but outwardly I remained pleasant to him. He seemed to like me, all though he had little interest in magic. I wondered why on earth he was then working at a magic school, but there he was, always underfoot. Warily, I remained on the lookout for him.

I stayed close to the walls where the shadows hid me, feeling my way along with one hand on the stone corridor to guide me. I extinguished my light, and my eyes soon adjusted to the darkness around. I crept along, not really knowing where I was going, until I felt a familiar brush of chills rush through me. A cackling sound rang from above, and I grimaced internally. Raising my head, I was the recipient of Peeves the poltergeist's snarling smile. 

"A student out of bed? Tisk tisk. What shall I do with this?" Peeves spun around, putting his bluish finger to his chin in mock contemplation. His mouth was disgusting to look at, and he let it hang open in front of me. 

I gritted my teeth, and then said in a forceful whisper, "Peeves, I'm just leaving the Nurse's. I was just going to my room, so leave me alone." 

Peeves laughed louder. "Oh, you can't really expect me to believe that, can you, my hallucinating Parseltongue?" At that my eyes widened, and his grin became meaner. "Didn't think I knew about that, did you? Well, you really should be more careful in those Slytherin dormitories. You can't be sure _who_ is lurking behind those walls - or in them." 

"Peeves, I haven't a clue what you are talking about. I'm going to bed," I said calmly, wishing furiously that he were alive right now so I could kill him. I started to go, but he blocked my way again. Not wanting to feel the chill from walking through him, I sighed and consented to having to listen. 

He floated upside down, lolling his tongue at me. "I wonder what your friends in Slytherin would say if they knew about all this. Quite the risk." At my loathing stare, he sighed and said, "Oh yes, you haven't gotten any real friends, now have you? I doubt this news would make them any keener on you." 

Fed up, I finally pushed through him, my fists clenched. Yet his next comment made me pause. He called out, "It certainly didn't make Dippet or Dumbledore think any better of you. They are all afraid that you'll go bad. So sad. There must be something about you that makes them so concerned. Only they are more afraid about you than for you…boo-hoo." 

I finally turned, and seeing my expression Peeves added innocently, "What, you can't really have believed that they were afraid_ for_ you, could you? Poor child. No, afraid of you, of what you might become, but not for you. The last Parseltongue was the insane Salazar Slytherin. And now you're called by the Dark Lord Grindelwald---doesn't instill much confidence in those who know about you," 

I couldn't take it anymore. I spun and ran away, trying to block out Peeves' laughing final words, "Don't take my word for it, go and see for yourself, you little g -!" I shut out his voice, not hearing the end of his last remark. I turned the corner, not really knowing where I was heading. It certainly wasn't in the direction of the Slytherin rooms, nor the library. I just ran, no longer afraid of Tibald, but of myself. Part of me wanted to shove off Peeves' comments. I knew he said them just to be spiteful, but I couldn't shake the truth I'd heard. My mind was throbbing in time to my heartbeat, and I kept wandering lost in thought. Finally I heard voices. Quickly I slunk into the shadows, hiding myself behind a statue of a dragon. 

Holding my breath, I waiting before realizing the voices were coming from behind a closed door. Cursing my foolishness, I was about to leave again when I noticed that the door belonged to Dippet. I stood uncertain for a moment, and then pressed my ear against the door. I crushed it hard against the wood. A voice clarifying or amplifying charm could be of use, but I didn't want to take the risk. So I just stood there pressed, breathing shallowly, and waited. 

The voices sounded far away and muffled. It took me a moment to figure out that they belonged to Dippet, Dumbledore, Thistle, and Zwipp. My heart beat faster. The Headmaster, Deputy Headmaster, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and the head of Slytherin all meeting. It had to be about me. I listened closely. 

Dippet was speaking mid sentence. "---is his fault?" 

Dumbledore's voice came next. "The symbol he described is the mark of Grindelwald. And the meaning of the phoenix dying, that must symbolize the end of his resurrection. The final, definitive change in this part of history, for all of us. I believe that the final battle of Grindelwald is approaching---though how it will end I have no clue." 

Zwipp's annoyed voice came next. "Damn it, Albus, enough of your inane dream analysis! I swear you grow battier than Grindelwald everyday. Anyone could tell you that a final break in the war must be close. The amount of hate he has instilled in his followers means they must act soon. And after us, the Muggles will be easy enough to destroy should he decide to. They're but a second away from war themselves. It doesn't take a boy's fantasies to tell us this." 

Dumbledore's voice turned cold. I could picture his eyes clouding. "Riddle is not just any boy, Zwipp." My eyes widened, and I crushed against the door closer if possible. Dumbledore continued. "You'd do good to get over your advanced potions and realize that there is so much more to magic that even we do not understand. I have no doubt that Grindelwald is close to us. If he isn't aware of Tom yet, he will be soon. The boy has incredible ability; you see the power in him. How could Grindelwald not want him? Even I wonder at certain thing's I've seen…" his voice trailed off and my chest clenched, think of the paper he had seen. Was he thinking of the similarities between myself and Salazar? 

Thistle finally spoke up. "But then is this the safest place for him to be, Armando? For any of the children? I can't see Tom as a dark wizard, but if there is the slightest possibility--" 

"Then Grindelwald will have an undefeatable advantage." Dippet finished for her. Then he sighed heavily, saying in frustration, "How could this be, Albus? Tom is only eleven!" 

Dumbledore's answer silenced my heart. In a level tone he said, "How could it not be him? Think about it, sir! A magician of Tom's capabilities comes around once in an eternity. The only one in history that had his intellectual and magical abilities that I can think of is Merlin, our great protector and modern magic father. Do you actually think that it is a coincidence that Tom is here with us now?" 

"There he goes again with his mystical nonsense," Zwipp muttered. 

Dippet cut him off. "So what are you trying to tell us, Albus? That Tom is some---some instrument?" I heard Dippet and Zwipp chuckle at this. 

Dumbledore's next comment was cold. "No, I don't believe he is merely an instrument for some great plan or prophecy hidden in some walls.  His being is like everyone else's, part fate and part luck, and ultimately _his_. But I do think that Tom is a rare opportunity. We should be grateful that we got to him first--I don't know how we managed to. If it is part of Grindelwald's plan, we have to act now, and hope that Tom is up to it. I don't believe that anyone is immune to Grindelwald's offer, least of all someone who grew up as Tom did." 

I almost choked. What did Dumbledore mean by that? That because I was half-Muggle and grew up a poor orphan, that I was more likely to turn out a dark wizard? Just because I didn't have the all-knowing morality of Dumbledore growing up didn't mean I was a slave to whatever anyone threw at me. If he thought this about me, I would show him how wrong he was. 

My anger made me miss Dumbledore's next comment. I cursed myself, and then resumed struggling to hear. 

It was now Dippet. "That is true, Albus. But I have faith in Tom. He is our most promising student. Yes, I know that does not account for everything, but it does say a great deal about him. And he did decide to come here. I think we should be grateful he is under our guidance, and take this one step at a time. Keeping everything orderly and providing a secure learning environment will be our best way of protecting and guiding Tom, and keeping him and the others away from Grindelwald." 

After he said that, everyone began to say their farewells. I hurriedly rushed out to avoid being caught, though I wanted to hear what else they were saying. I didn't stop until I reached the Slytherin rooms. I stopped outside the entrance, panting, and sat down. I curled up in the dark, and ran over what I had heard, trying to have it make sense to me. So they were afraid of me---well, at least Dumbledore was. And they did see me as some kind of freak. A powerful one that could be used. They would like me and keep me, as long as I did what they wanted. Breathing hard, my anger grew. Did they think if, left to myself, that I would jump at the first dark lord who offered me candy to join him? 

I stood, the anger giving me energy. So Dumbledore would keep his promise to protect me, but only because he didn't trust me. At least, that was what it seemed like. It was the opposite of what life had been like at the Blunts. There I had been hurt and abandoned because of my unusual abilities. Here, I was protected and nurtured for them. But in both cases, I felt used, hurt and empty. 

I still didn't fit in anywhere. If I didn't have the abilities I would still be with the Blunts, who hated my personality as much as they did my demon side. And because of my abilities I was accepted here, but none who knew me seemed to really care or like me. No, I amended that. It was possible my mother had cared, but she had been abandoned by my father for being who she was. My fists clenched. Maybe if she had been a stronger witch, she would have gotten more help from others in her community. Or she would have been used, and then discarded. Would I be tossed aside after Grindelwald was finished? 

Salazar Slytherin's words in a caption about him rang through my head_. True blood will show_. I gripped this. If there were witches and wizards like my mother, I would accept them. But everyone else who used others and abused their power, I would stop. Dumbledore was right after all. I created a purpose, and I had the ability to bring it into being. Grindelwald was going to be crushed. And by me if I could. But I wasn't doing it for my unfeeling, frightened professors. My heart bled at the thought of how many times I had been the tool for someone else's pleasure at my own expense. No, no one used or controlled me and got away with it. And the only way to ensure this, I decided, was to be able to use them first. 

Finally I reached the common rooms. All the Slytherins were still awake, and crowded in there. That mystified me, until I recalled what day it still was. I stood there a moment in the entrance, waiting for the others to recognize me. Everyone had been laughing and celebrating Halloween and Salazar's birthday, but one by one they silenced as they saw me. It was so quiet that I could hear a cup being dropped. 

Damien broke the silence. Swaggering over, he said, "Well, if it isn't our mad Mudblood? They let you out of Mungo's already?" 

I smiled back. "Yes, once they realized that I actually was helping them against Grindelwald at my own expense, they let me out. I expect a reward will be awaiting me tomorrow." 

I started to walk through, but Damien stopped me. I noticed that Dash was not present. Damien looked me in the eye, and spit out, "Liar. We don't take kindly to those who act against their houses _again_." 

I stared right back at him, seeing for the first time the uncertainty behind his façade. "Well, ask Zwipp, Dippet, Thistle, or even Dumbledore tomorrow. But I am hurt that you don't believe me. Excuse me, I have to go cry about this." I turned then, grinning at the laughter I caused. The only other one glowering was Cathleen. 

Randy and Simon followed me into the dorms. They were both staring at me wide eyed. Randy asked me in a nervous tone, "Everyone thought that you were dead." 

"Really? And you still had a party. I feel loved." I went to remove my clothing, remembering that I had left the other ones in the hospital. I decided to shower later, too tired to do much more than pull on my gray flannel pants and the loose shirt I slept in. I sat down on my bed, pushing Snicks over. He grumpily complied, and I removed my socks as Randy and Simon kept chattering. 

Simon said, "It was the weirdest thing. Everyone is convinced that you were possessed. Half of the school is in awe of you, and the other half is terrified." He grinned nervously. "It's going around that you are some dark arts ploy, being used by Grindelwald to bring Hogwarts down." 

I had been settling back, but because of his words I froze. I turned toward him slowly, and said darkly, "Nobody uses me." At that Simon and Randy gulped and hastily retreated. I turned the lights out and lay down, repeating those words to myself until sleep blissfully overtook me, "Nobody uses me." 


	11. Chapter 11: The True Meaning of Christma...

**Chapter 11: The True Meaning of Christmas Is?**

The remaining months of the semester flew by. I continued to work nonstop, and it paid off in earning me respect among the entire faculty. I also had several more episodes of the phoenix dream. They happened at night and left me waking and trembling. Twice I saw Grindelwald in my dreams. He clearly did not care about hiding anymore. Once he was holding the child. The other time he was sitting at the foot of my bed, holding my wand, laughing as he cast a spell on me that left me paralyzed. In that moment, he said, "You are merely the beginning...I've set my eye on bigger things than you...big as a bumblebee..." And then he'd laughed again, enjoying my confusion. I had woken up before I found out what he planned to do to me after that. All these I reported to Dippet, who passed them along to my other professors. Thistle taught me a dream control charm, where it was easier for me to pull myself out of the visions. But I couldn't prevent them from happening, so I always had a knot in my stomach when I finally laid down for bed. I wasn't ready to face the visions head on yet. Not yet.

Other than a few extra defense lessons and some added reading material, the professors kept mum around me of the situation. Several times I had sneaked to Dippet's office to see if they were holding any more conferences, but to no avail. I finally realized they were as lost as I. We all were waiting for something to happen to give us a clue.

I couldn't stand doing nothing. I'd heard there had been another time Grindelwald had pursued someone as he was doing me...and it had ended in the witch's death. The thought terrified me, even as I tried to say that I was certain I had to be stronger than the girl who had fallen. It did little good, and I was desperate for a diversion.

So I immersed myself in my studies, though to be ready for what I wasn't sure. I realized in my Care for Magical Creatures class that if I simply kept well-meaning intentions in my thoughts, I didn't have as many problems with the pure animals. But that was probably useless except to earn me good marks, and I was still infuriated that I was far less than the best student in that class despite my constant efforts. Dumbledore tutored me privately in Transfiguration, probably in pity as much as because I'd already surpassed my class. It left the time periods where my classmates were having that class free for me to be working off my tuition. During that time, I did odd chores for the professors, Dippet, or Drawt. My nights were packed with reading on defense, Grindelwald, my mother, Salazar, and other untaught magic. It was better to prepare myself for anything, I reasoned.

On the night before the last day of classes, I trudged into the dining hall, shaking new fallen snow off my green cloak. For our last Flying class, we had played a mock game of Quidditch. I had played one of the Chasers, and while I'd made no goal, I hadn't fallen, either. Cathleen had been the Seeker, not because she was a good flyer, but because she wasn't a "male." Wingram said that since the best flyers were female, only they could be the Seekers. I would have been angrier, like Randy and Simon were, but I didn't care enough about Quidditch to devote that much attention to it. I personally thought it had been worth losing the game to see Cathleen getting caught in a tall tree while the fat girl from Gryffindor, Betsy something, snatched the Snitch.

I was still smiling about that as I slid into my seat at the corner of the Slytherin dinner table. Samantha DeRosa, a first year Slytherin who was sitting across from me, frowned and asked, "What's so funny, Riddle? We lost!"

I smiled wider. "It depends on how you view winning."

"Well, normal people view it as getting the most points. Though I suppose just having stayed on your broom is enough of a victory for you, Mudblood, right?" I didn't bother turning to let Damien into my view. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Cathleen's new robe. Wonderful, they were together. Dash must not have been around, because Damien didn't dare call me Mudblood then.

Simon came to my defense, probably to stop what he perceived as a duel in the making. He had an even temperament and enjoyed mitigating. "Not really, Malfoy. Riddle's not a bad flyer." Sammy and Randy remained silent, clearly thinking along with me that, while I hadn't fallen, I was far closer to a bad flyer than a good one. By this time in the semester, I had decided Flying wasn't a real subject; therefore, I excused my lack of ability where it was concerned.

Damien sneered. "Doesn't matter. Slytherin won't have a Mudblood on the team while I'm here. And they won't do away with me. So sorry, loser, try the Hufflepuff team. They like orphaned Squibs." He left with Cathleen simpering at him, getting as far away from me as he could.

I shook my head in disgust as Samantha said, "You know he's right." Everyone turned to her in surprise – she hadn't looked like she'd been paying attention at all. And yet now she was prattling. "Not that you could make the team anyway. But still, Damien is the best Seeker of all the Houses. Only the Gryffindors' Seeker comes close to challenging him. Plus he is Dash's brother; he won't pull him." She looked at me in slight sympathy, more than most offered. "Sorry, Tom."

I shrugged. Dash might like me, but I was decidedly not Quidditch material. And since I was not fond of games, heights, and especially games involving heights, it mattered little. "Why be sorry? I don't want to be on the team. I don't even care about Quidditch."

Randy and Simon simultaneously dropped their spoons. "How can you not care about Quidditch?" Randy asked in horror.

I held my hands up in mock defense and said witheringly, "I'm sorry. I forgot it made the earth revolve on its axis and the sun rise each morning." Samantha snickered, and I smiled at her for her good taste in humor.

Simon nudged Randy and said loudly, "Maybe that's the Muggle in him, eh?" His eyes widened as he realized the words he had just uttered in my presence and my responding frozen expression. He stammered, as he always did when he got nervous. "I-I'm sorry, Tom. I was just joking. You can take a joke, right?" He looked at me, half hopeful, the rest scared out of his training diapers.

I stock smiled at him and said, rising, "Of course I can. Muggles and Mudbloods deserve to be laughed at sometimes, don't they? They're easy targets."

Randy waved his hand and said, placating, "Ah, Tom, sit down and lighten up. He didn't mean anything by it. Don't get all moody; you need to help me with Charms homework tonight, and I can't take it when you get snippy." He turned to the others then and said in a whisper loud enough for me to hear, "I've almost convinced him to out-charm our professor by enchanting all our Slytherin finals to give us the answers. So be _really_ sweet to him for the next few days, no matter how cranky he is." Then he turned to me and said innocently, "Tom, did I mention I _loved_ your presentation on the great slime slugs in the pre-Constantine period? _Very_ interesting." He turned to Samantha, who was laughing during all of this exchange. "Come on, Sammy; bat your eyes at him. Compliment him on his eyes or shoes—try to be a girl. We might get his help in Herbology as well!"

Even I had to laugh at this point. I didn't laugh often, and more and more Randy was becoming someone I didn't mind to be around. He was fairly witty and utterly insensitive, so it was always enjoyable to spar with him without fear that the other would take it too personally. I grinned slightly at him, shaking my head as I said, "You're pathetic. But entertaining. Simon, I forgive you. Samantha, I pity you, sitting next to _him_." I was looking at Randy, ending with, "And I'll see you at ten for the migraine your inaptitude always gives me."

Randy gave me a mock salute. "Right-o, my chief. My captain. My know-it-all tutor. My slave driver."

I smirked at him and said teasingly, "I prefer the term master."

Randy snorted. "Of course. Well, then, master, may I have the rest of your soup?"

He was pointing to my barely touched bowl. I shuddered looking at it. I imagine from the visions my stomach was never at ease enough to be hungry. Still, I really hated the cream soup they had a penchant for serving in the winter. Making a face, I replied, "Since you asked so nicely, go right ahead. I'll be in the dorm, studying." Randy was already pulling my bowl toward him, only giving me a cursory nod as I went off. The others around did a similar gesture, used to my finicky eating habits by now.

I left the room, feeling lighter than I had in the recent past. Flopping my books open on my bed, I began reviewing things I knew, relishing the confidence it gave me. Whenever I was in doubt now, studying magic and gaining more control over it was where I turned for comfort. It was the only thing that felt right to me, and hopefully it would cause everything else to fall in place as well.

The semester finals went by easily. Dippet was talking about putting me in a higher grade level, but Dumbledore and Nurse Drawt talked him out of it. They felt that with my current visions, advanced Transfiguration was enough. Normally I would have fumed at this, but I was already so busy with my private studies that I welcomed the break. Though just to make sure they knew how capable I was, I often did any extra credit or project offered to ensure my high standing.

I had just finished my Care for Magical Creatures final, where we had to clean, groom, and analyze a developing fairy for a week before presenting them to the class. My presentation had been ten minutes longer than the other students, but the laughing potion I'd sneaked to the fairy had worn off halfway through, and she'd proceeded to snap at my fingers. Still, I received praise from Professor Odios because I had gone with the groundskeeper into the forest on one of his scouting trips and accumulated the actual habitat for the fairy, instead of poorly simulating it like the other students had. I felt proud that I had actually been able to cause those saintly Hufflepuffs to turn red in frustration at me, since none of them had thought to do that. This class was generally known to be the Hufflepuffs' best. Because of their good temperament, animals usually took to them, I assumed.

What I had lacked in natural ability, I'd done my best to cover with effort, and at least it hadn't been totally in vain. Still, I felt a bit let down that my final mark wasn't particularly stellar, and nowhere close to beating the Hufflepuff Jamie Overhallings' mark. However, I ended up with the highest overall marks in my House. As nice as it was to show up people like Cathleen, it was a personal victory more than anything, considering how uneasy some of the animals still were around me. I had spent hours with my last animal, the willow songbird, coaxing it to trust me in the common rooms before finally drugging it to make it appear to sleep on my command. Thankfully, Care for Magical Creatures hadn't set me too far behind in the rankings that the other classes couldn't make up for it.

So as I headed to my last two finals, my confidence level was fairly high. Both of these exams were taking place in the late afternoon. I didn't bother to grab an early dinner, spending those last few minutes preparing for the Ethics of Magic oral final. Since I didn't agree with the ethicists who promoted a control on the exploration of new and uncertain magic, I had a feeling Dumbledore was going to have me argue that case. When the time came, he did indeed call me up first, posing the question:

"Given the documented proof that over sixty percent of untried and ungoverned magic is found harmful to the doer and community, do you feel that it is right or wrong for the current Ministry to be pushing for a law of strict control over such practices and a ban on uncensored magic exploration? Include the current war situation into your discussion, and cite by name professional opinions to back up your position."

I had two choices. I could go the easy way, agree with the Ministry, recite the hypocrites who took that position, and walk away with a perfect score. Or I could be myself and hope to weasel a perfect anyway.

"I feel that neither solution is correct. I have an alternate one I'd like to argue for."

Dumbledore raised his eyes at that, silencing the stirs I created. He leaned back, simply saying "Interesting. Please do continue, Mr. Riddle."

Some of this I had simply memorized, other parts I fully understood and agreed with. Confidently, I started, "The first question is a universal one. Over sixty percent, as you cited from Ramble's Essay 'On Ethimagics' of untried and ungoverned magic is found harmful by a majority of the population polled by his newspaper. His definition of harmful is that found in the Wizard's dictionary—to potentially cause physical, emotional, or psychological damage. However, it is assumed that a percentage of his polled audience never was, in fact, harmed by the cases that made up the sixty percent. Also, forty percent of those supposed 'harmful' cases did not feel they had been harmed, despite Ramble saying they were. These statistics can be found in 'Witch's and Wizard's Figures on Events.' Ramble's statements also ignore the other forty percent of unguarded experiments which led to incredible benefits to society, such as the invention of Floo powder or treatment for a Sidewinding Dragon's burn."

Dumbledore interrupted me as I took a breath. "There were twelve deaths in the creation of the Sidewinding Dragon's burn cure. Some might say that number would have decreased dramatically had it been developed under the Ministry's direction." He didn't look like he agreed or disagreed, just posing a thought. I hated that.

"Yes, that is what some might say. Others would realize that the Ministry most likely would have not seen the project through because even one person might die, and the medicine never would have been created."

"Even the death of one person is significant, is it not, Mr. Riddle?"

"Of course it is. And unfortunately, there are far too many incompetent wizards out there who make stupid –erm, I mean inaccurate -- mistakes in experimenting on their own, causing unnecessary deaths and forcing the Ministry to promote this ban."

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Then it would seem the Ministry would be right in their ban, since it is their duty to ensure the well being of the people."

"Yes, it would seem that way, as long as it were all or nothing. With the amount of incapable people using magic, the logistics of the supposed harmful cases will always outnumber the successful ones to a degree that the Ministry can't ignore. If you wish for proof just read the book, 'Accidents of the Untrained' by Wimersinkle. However, I propose a moderate control system. There should be a ban on some, like the cases seen in Wimersinkle. However, real wizards who have something to offer should be given the freedom to work and test."

"Not a very egalitarian system, Mr. Riddle. How do you suppose the Ministry should sort out the 'real' wizards and witches from the others?"

I shrugged. "School marks, work performance, recommendations. Find talent early, and have it nurtured. Mostly performance records."

Dumbledore was no longer smiling. His face was neutral, his tone probing. "Performance. A common assessment tool. One surely not to be overlooked. But I wonder, Mr. Riddle, what your position is of other qualities some might find valuable? Talent is not always linked to greatness, or a shield from causing harm. Would you agree?"

Damn him. I paused for a moment, recollecting my thoughts, then added, "I suppose that would depend on your definition of harm. That leads me into the war part." Smoothly diverted… I hoped. "As I said, there are always going to be cases where the outcome is harmful. The only way to try and stop that is to stop progress altogether. That wouldn't work, since people will find ways around it, and it would be even harder for the Ministry to keep track. But if given the aptitude, proper training, and the freedom, there will be agents on both sides. No magic is dark or evil—it is just used differently. Everyone of a good enough caliber should be able to learn and wield it, if for nothing else than for defense against those who use it against society's conventions."

The room was silent for a while. Dumbledore rocked back in his chair, his fingers tapping his pursed lips. Finally he spoke. "So you believe there is no evil magic, just evil people?"

I shook my head. "I don't think there is either. There are some who just aren't powerful enough to control it or use it properly. Those are the people who the Ministry should restrict. And if the Ministry makes a mistake, which it undoubtedly will, there will be those of stronger ability who can step in and correct it, being able to control the magic they learned without the slowdown of the regulations of the Ministry."

Dumbledore's eyes had an odd sheen to them as he said, "Until there is dissention over whom among the 'real' wizards is fit?" I paused at that, but before I could respond he added, "You never answered my original question, Mr. Riddle." He had that odd smile on his face again. Before I could add more, he said, "Perhaps that was the point?"

I still was silent, thinking. Anger rose inside me over the fact that he probably thought he'd won this debate. Had he? I pondered some of his words. I hated that I hadn't had a response as much as I hated questioning who had won. Even though he'd had the undeniable advantage of having the last word, I was still the one left thinking on what he said. I had a feeling a great deal more than my mark rested on this, though I couldn't be sure what. Licking my drying lips, I finally replied, "The Ministry?"

A raised eyebrow was his first response. Then, "Do not ask me, Mr. Riddle. Until after the lesson, that is. Then, I will most readily give you my opinion. I am certain you are most interested." At that, Dumbledore smiled, but it was still a guarded one, as though he wasn't quite sure what to believe of me. I couldn't blame him—I honestly didn't know with which one I really would side. I slid shakily back into my seat.

My mind wandered during the rest of the presentations. Thinking it over, I still preferred my idea. Yes, the notion of a dictator was worrisome. But was the Minister of Magic really that different, acting under a more discreet title? There were some similarities in the role that the Minister played and the position of Grindelwald, even. Someone had to ultimately decide on laws. To be the leader. And was my suggestion so terrible? They would trust a mature magician to go study Centaurs, especially if that were his specialty, but no one would send an underage student. How was that really different than entrusting the study of certain magic to capable wizards and witches and not to others? I didn't voice my question, certain Dumbledore would have no satisfying answer. I simply sat still, lost in my thoughts and not listening to anyone else.

After the ethics final was my private Transfiguration one. I had to transform a hat into a thimble and then make it shrink down to actual thimble size. Dumbledore said this was fifth year work, and a bit of his real smile showed through as he enthusiastically told me about next semester. He said we might start working with organic materials, flowers and such, and combine this class work with Charms. It sounded really interesting, almost covering the disappointment at finding out that at this rate I would reach being an Animagus during my third year. Afterwards, Dumbledore told me I got an O in Transfiguration, keeping quiet about the Ethics class. I wanted desperately to ask him about it, but I knew he didn't like his students to be too preoccupied with marks. So I just smiled as he said goodbye.

On my way out, he asked me if I were staying over the break. I turned and nodded. There was no way I was going back to the orphanage, but I just told him that I needed the time to study and work. He said there was someone coming after Christmas who he was anxious for me to meet and left me puzzling at that.

By the time I got back to the common room, it was after nine o'clock. The entire dungeon was bustling as everyone was preparing to go home for the Christmas holiday. Those who had already packed were lounging about in large groups, excitedly jabbering as they finished decorating cards and wrapping presents. I saw Dash putting some holly around the fireplace quietly, not participating in the others' enjoyment. I walked over to him.

He turned to me and smiled. "Finals go all right?"

I picked up a leaf that had scattered to the floor and answered, "I suppose. One was hard."

He laughed. "For you?"

I tried to smile back, quietly saying, "Yes, even for me."

Dash shrugged. "Well, welcome to everyone else's hell. Wait till you get to fifth year. I desperately need a break." At that he paused, then muttered, "Not that I'll bloody really get one."

My heart lifted. "Are you staying here then?" I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Unfortunately Dash shook his head. "No, that would be a real break if I could." His jaw tightened. "I'm working with my father over this holiday."

I knew better than to ask what was making him so upset. It was apparent that Dash and his father didn't get on well, but he never spoke of it. "Maybe it won't be so bad," I said encouragingly. "He heads the Education Committee for the Ministry, doesn't he? Maybe you'll get to travel to some other schools and learn some stuff."

For some reason, Dash laughed bitterly at that. "For part of the time, we will be going to observe at the Durmstrang school—I have a feeling he plans for some extensive learning of mine to be had there."

"Really? That's great." I couldn't understand the look of disbelief he was giving me.

"Tom," he said slowly. "Do you know what Durmstrang is?"

I bristled. "Of course I do. It's a magic school. I think inter-learning among schools is a great plan."

"Do you know what they teach there?" Dash asked, folding his arms. "Well, that part I don't mind. But do you know what my father will make me do there?"

"Well, I'd assume magic." I thought Dash was making the situation worse than it seemed. He had a tendency to do that, in my opinion.

Staring at me, he finally sighed and turned to leave. "Forget it."

"Fine. Are you all right?" I asked him. He looked at me, and some of the tension that had been building dissipated.

He smiled wearily. "Yes. I have to finish packing now. Would you tell Damien we have to leave tomorrow morning at seven?"

I gritted my teeth, but the burdened look on Dash's face made me reply, "Of course." I spun on my heel and went into the boys' dorm. Inside there was Damien, Simon, and three of Damien's friends. I walked over to Damien, who was sprawled on his bed trying to fit everything he owned into a suitcase, and said, "Dash wanted me to tell you that you are leaving tomorrow morning at seven." I didn't add the good riddance that was burning at the tip of my tongue.

Damien turned to me and said stiffly, "Why didn't he tell me himself?"

I shrugged. "He had to pack. We were talking right before that, so he asked me to."

Damien eyed me carefully and then retorted, "Whatever."

I smiled at his jealousy. "Happy Christmas!" I said cheerfully. Crossing to my bed, I didn't plan on getting up until they had left. I curled up with a spell book, not really paying attention to it. Snicks had found his way onto my shoulder and was distracting me with his humorous adventures of late with a large, rather frisky female boa constrictor. I was left alone the rest of the night, my breath echoing in the practically empty dungeons. After a few hours, my eyes were inconceivably heavy, and I let myself have the respite of sleep. Amazingly, it was undisturbed.

The morning of Christmas I awoke sometime after seven, groggy from having slept for more than three hours at one time. I blearily pushed myself out of bed and got dressed. It was too cold to stay in my pajamas, and I didn't have a robe. Hearing shouts from upstairs, I left Snicks on my pillow and went into the commons. Not many Slytherins had stayed over for the break. Only five by my count. Three of them were fifth years, staying so they would have better resources to study for the upcoming O.W.L.s. One I didn't recognize, and the last one was Simon. I walked over to him, and he eyed me a bit nervously.

"Oh, hi, Tom. Good morning. I mean, Happy Christmas." He seemed to be trying to hide something.

I smiled back slightly. "Happy Christmas. And you don't have to hide your gifts."

He swung around and stared guiltily at what he was holding behind his back. It looked like a top of the line new broom-grooming kit. Embarrassed, he explained, "I didn't see any for you."

I shrugged and said, "It's fine. Really. Who would give me a present? I never expected one." An awkwardness hung between us, until I finally said, "Want to go to breakfast?" I didn't really, but I couldn't stand the look of pity on his face. There was no reason for it. I really hadn't expected anything. I barely knew these people, like Dash, Randy, and Gail - I hadn't got them anything either. But then, I didn't even have enough money to pay for my clothing, let alone gifts. I told myself I didn't care again and again as we went to the dining hall. Simon's mood visibly lifted just as my spirits were sinking. By the time Gail came up to me, I was wholly out of the holiday spirit. Natural and common, for me.

"Happy Christmas, men!" she said, smiling at us. Simon gave her a barely civil smile back. While he was welcoming to a half-blood like myself, mostly because I had proven to be a valuable member of the House, he was a bit unwelcoming to a Muggle-born like Gail. He was still looking suspiciously at her when she sat down next to me.

I turned to him and asked something that had been bothering me. "Why do you celebrate Christmas?" By 'you,' I meant magic folk.

Both he and Gail looked at me in surprise. Already committed and having shown my ignorance, I continued, "I mean, in the Muggle world it makes sense—it was drilled into me. The birth of Christ, the savior, celebrating that and bringing his message of good will to all and so on...but do magicians believe that?"

Simon looked a little uncomfortable under the direct questioning. "Well, it's a little different. We celebrate it because Jesus was an advocate against the persecution of all, including magicians. There was a great deal of backlash against our community at that time, and he preached tolerance of all, so we could grow as well. So we celebrate to thank him for that." He looked at me and laughed a little anxiously. "That, and we get presents."

I nodded. "I think the celebration of tolerance has lost its novelty in a lot of places, don't you?" Simon merely looked confused at that, but Gail gave me a small smile.

"I didn't expect you to think of the true meaning of Christmas." She then excused herself and hurried off. I craned my neck and saw her meet up with some Hufflepuff girls. They were dressed to go out, probably to Hogsmeade. I felt lower for some reason. What did she mean that it was surprising I would think of Christmas in that way?

Simon rolled his eyes and said to me, "Those Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are getting as high and mighty as the Gryffindors. She probably now thinks all of us are bad, because Dash dumped her." He shook his head. "I don't know what he was thinking seeing her anyway."

I stared at him. Was that the reason she had been so nice to me, because of Dash? Or out of sympathy, feeling sorry for a cursed, poor Slytherin? I didn't really believe it. But then, I had yet to meet someone who didn't disappoint me. When it came down to it, was anyone completely selfless? Doubtful. I pressed a hand over my head. The cheerful noise surrounding me suddenly felt stifling. I politely excused myself from Simon, promising to see him later, and fled to the library. On my way, I overheard Gail speaking with the other Hufflepuffs.

"I feel sorry for him. So does Dash, I think. No family, nothing. I would have got him something, but I thought it worse to do it out of pity. That's how he'd see it. He's too proud, like Dash, but he's a good kid." She sighed, heading out with her friends. "I just feel sorry for him."

I stood in silence, watching her retreating back.

Later that evening, I sat in front of the fire in the downstairs hall. It was empty except for the holiday furniture and a roasting fire. I picked a small, plush couch right in front of the fire, hoping it would warm my insides. Silence ensued, except for the crackling flames. The room was dark and without windows, but I could still hear the merriment from the large Christmas feast dinner outside.

Trying to ignore it, I pushed open a book. I had taken it out of the restricted section of the library. It was fairly easy to do that, since I worked there and Acadima trusted me. It was called The Legacy of Salazar. However, I found it hard to read. I blinked, and while the words cleared, I felt two tears slowly roll down my cheeks, finding my lips so I tasted their bitterness.

"Mr. Riddle?"

I jumped at the noise, quickly fumbling to hide the book. Dumbledore was standing next to me. I pulled the book in close to my chest to hide the cover, trying to just appear cold.

"Tired, Mr. Riddle?"

"What?" I asked nervously, twisting the book around so it was upside-down.

Dumbledore settled into a chair next to me. "You looked like you had fallen asleep with your eyes open."

"Oh. No, sir."

He settled back, apparently in the mood for a conversation. "Zwipp hasn't been working you too hard?"

"No, sir."

"Would you like some hot chocolate?"

"No, sir."

"Do you find me intelligent?"

"N - what?"

"Just checking." Dumbledore smiled. I looked back at the fire, not in the mood for talking. I hoped he would take the hint, but he persisted. "You know, Mr. Riddle, I remember one time, when I was a boy, I got punished on Christmas. I decided to try to enchant the tree to sing by itself, so I wouldn't have to bother with all those carols. It ended up that the tree ate the family dinner and the couch as well."

His eyes seemed lost in memory. "I was sent to my room, and from there I had to listen to my family open gifts. My brother tried to sneak me one of his, but I resisted." He smiled. "I thought my family had taken away all of mine and they didn't feel I was deserving of anything. It wasn't until my mother came up some hours later that we made up, and I was allowed to rejoin the party."

I finally turned from the fire to stare at him. "What does that have to do with anything?" I asked.

He watched me quietly. "Nothing. Maybe something. Just that those few hours of neglect and feeling worthless was the worst time of my life. I didn't want my brother's pity. It wasn't until I was accepted again and told I was loved unconditionally by my mother that I felt right."

I said nothing, while he added softly, "I can't imagine a lifetime of that."

My heart was sobbing. But I wouldn't break. I stood up and smiled at him, making my voice steady and not quivering. "It's not like you think. It's easier. I never was loved unconditionally—so I don't miss anything. I'm fine. I'm just not one for holidays, is all. I have to go." With that, I hurriedly left the room. I didn't stop till I was back in my dormitory, far away from the sounds of the revelry. I picked up my stolen book and buried myself in it, with Snicks curling up quietly yet comfortingly next to me.


	12. Chapter 12: The New Year Needs Resolutio...

**Chapter 12: The New Year Needs Resolutions   
**   
The rest of break flew by. I spent most of it getting ahead in all of my subjects. Dippet was talking about moving me into second year Charms, and I felt ready to take him up on it. I also finished the History of Salazar, which had been extremely interesting. One person hypothesized that he went crazy after he killed a man during a duel that they had, where he used all three of the Unforgivable Curses in succession. It went into great detail on them, which was probably why the book had been restricted. The man, a Muggle born, had been trying to get Salazar thrown into Azkaban for his magic practices for years. Salazar had died before he was brought to a trial. His only known relation was a brief marriage that he had with a part Veela. She had dropped out of the history somewhere after the founding of Hogwarts, when he started becoming synonymous with the dark arts. On his deathbed he apparently had spoken of an heir. Unfortunately, while many had tried to lay claim to that title, no one had yet proven to be his heir. It was assumed that his last words were really mere dementia. Since he had no other known relations, and his wife had disappeared, any factual information on the Slytherin line ended with his death.   
  
I felt frustrated. In my mother's letter, she had sounded bitter and forceful---hardly the way one would talk to someone they had worshipped. In my heart I doubted that she would bow down to another in such a way anyway. I thought that there might be another connection between them, but there was nothing for me to go on.   
  
The day before New Year's Day, I was just returning from a futile trip to the library when I ran into a tall woman I didn't recognize. She had sleek brown hair pulled tightly back, and her dark eyes showed no hint of weakness. She raised an eyebrow at me, not amused.   
  
I smiled at her. "Good afternoon, Ma'am."   
  
She didn't return the smile. "What are you doing about? All the other students are in their rooms unpacking."   
  
I put on an innocent face, glad I hadn't taken anything out of the restricted section this time. "I stayed here for break. I was just in the library, getting a head start for my classes." _Not that it's any of your business._  
  
At that, her severe expression lessened slightly. But in an inquiring voice she still demanded, "Are you Thomas Riddle?"   
  
I nodded slowly, and she said, "Ah, I've heard about you. I am Madame Patricia Hagglings, a war informer for The Daily Prophet. Perhaps you've read some of my articles in class, or in the paper?"   
  
I hadn't. "Of course," I said.   
  
She smiled, though it wasn't really welcoming. "You're Headmaster invited me here to take over the Muggle studies class. He didn't say anything before, because he knows how troubling change can be to little ones. He thought it would be better announced now so the children didn't have a worrisome break." She seemed annoyed at that, but I smiled because it did sound just like Dippet. She eyed me, and continued, "Your Professor Dumbledore especially wanted me to meet you. He said that you were very insightful and interested in issues that are being dealt with in the Muggle world. He even placed you in my class, though I told him I only wanted third years and above. But, he was insistent." Looking me over, she said condescendingly, "I do believe he is overreaching. He's a tad overzealous, I think."   
  
She must be the person Dumbledore wanted me to meet. I already had enough of her for a lifetime. Politely excusing myself, I made a face at her back and left the room. I didn't really want to see who was back or hear about their breaks, so I went back into the library. I stayed there until dinner, when I had to go to the dining hall for the 'special announcement.' At the professors' raised table Madame Hagglings and Dumbledore started arguing loudly about the mystical star reading of the centaurs. It was almost worth being there to see Professor Zwipp actually get up and leave the table when Madame Hagglings offered to give him a free reading since she knew so much centaur magic, not realizing that the "sky" above the table was really an illusion.   
  
I don't know why Dumbledore wanted me to meet Hagglings. She was an incredibly pompous woman, who criticized every effort aspect of the Muggle world and droned on about how she would improve it in her speech after dinner. I crossed my arms throughout the evening, irritated. She didn't seem to know very much about the Muggle world, and that bothered me more than what she was saying. Then, my eyes widened at I realized what Dumbledore must have been doing, and I seethed. Dumbledore's itinerary was for me to feel precisely this way about her, and draw a comparison between her and myself. I glared at him from the safety of the back of the room. If Dumbledore was trying to tell me I sounded like a bombast Muggle outsider criticizing the workings of the magic community I had only just joined, he truly was insane. I was nothing like this lady. 

I at least knew what a real sky was.   
  
I was beginning to drift off from her droning when she said, "And we believe that spies of Grindelwald are everywhere. _Everywhere_." She gave a dramatic pause there, ominously staring from one corner of the room to the other. To me, it appeared as if she had an odd tick. Barely stifling a snort, I half-listened to her drone on as she said, "The Muggle world is just as likely a place for him to strike, or to seek an alliance. You can't be too careful, and the Ministry is doing everything it can to eradicate problems before they start. So any unusual behavior at school, at home, and in the Muggle world if that is where you reside, the Ministry asks you to report to your Headmaster. Especially those of you who are of Muggle descent. This includes activities related to magic and otherwise. We aren't on a witch hunt, per se, but these are troubled times." She looked solemnly at us. "So be careful who you trust, and don't hide any information to yourself."   
  
I turned and caught Dumbledore's eye at this, finding him looking right at me. I swallowed hard, averting my eyes. Did he mean my being a Parseltongue, or being unusually gifted in my classes? Or did he know about my going into the restricted section of the library to read forbidden things and suspected me? Was he going to turn me in?   
  
_Calm down_, I told myself irritably. _He's just using this lady to try and teach me not to be so arrogant in my opinions. Or he probably just means for me to be careful around others in talking to Snicks or doing the extra work everyone assigned me. It's probably for my own protection_. I told myself this repeatedly, but the knot in my stomach didn't decrease. I didn't think highly enough of Dumbledore to really believe any of what I'd thought.  
  
I left for my room after dinner, barely listening as Randy told me of his break. My mind was on Dash, because he and Damien had not been present at the dinner. Once we got back to the Slytherin commons, I went to Dash's door and knocked tentatively. I heard nothing, so I knocked a little louder. Finally I heard Dash's voice bid me enter.   
  
I pushed the door open and entered his room. It was as pristine and immaculate as always, except for the unopened trunks that were sprawled directly in the middle of the floor. I nearly tripped over them – actually, I did trip, almost falling onto the bed. Flushing a bit, I immediately straightened up properly, glad he hadn't said anything. Then, as I turned to examine him, I realized he hadn't even seen my clumsiness. Dash was sitting on the floor, papers spread all about him. He didn't look up as I walked over to him, merely asking distantly, "Yes, what do you want?"   
  
A bit stung, I replied, "A nicer welcoming?" I expected Dash to smile at that. Usually when I said such things he would break out of these moods and come around. But he merely sniffed and kept his head down. Normally I would have taken the hint and left, but instead I found myself more concerned. It was an odd feeling, not one I was sure I liked, but it was still there. Christmas gift or no, Dash still had been the kindest person to me in my life. Not only would life be even more miserable if he turned against me, but I also felt some appreciation for him. After all, he had kept Damien off my back more than once. As a result, I sighed and remained awkwardly standing there.  
  
Craning my head, I tried to read the papers that Dash was sorting, though they were upside down to me. I made out the words _parents_ and _special occasion_, before they were ripped from my sight. Dash had scooped them up to his chest and thrust them onto his counter. Still scattered on the floor were different colored quills. Apparently Dash had been writing the things by hand. My brow furrowed in confusion; why hadn't he just charmed them? I looked up, and he still wasn't facing me.   
  
On edge now, I asked again softer, "Dash, what is it?"   
  
In a strained voice, he replied, "Dippet is having all the Houses post these signs up. He didn't make the announcement at dinner, I guess." He _still wasn't facing me. I shifted uncomfortably. It seemed as though Dash were talking to himself rather than me, and I were merely eavesdropping. But I still couldn't tear myself away as he continued. "There is going to be a parents day in a few weeks. Dippet thinks it'll be good for the kids. Of course, only magic parents can come. The other professors tried to tell him it wasn't fair to the Muggle-borns, but he said it was better than nothing. Especially now---" he swallowed hard.   
  
I could surmise what Dippet had meant. The Dark Lord Grindelwald had defeated a rebellious colony of wizards and witches in northern France; I suspect that was where our previous Muggle Studies professor had met her end. In the paper there had been a long list of people who had been killed, or were now in the hospital. The latter would probably never leave Mungo's because of the attack. I had recognized a few of the names the list, and guessed them to be relatives of certain students here. Dippet probably thought this parent's event would be a good moral booster for everyone. And good P.R. for him to prove to terrified parents that Hogwarts was still the best place for their children.   
  
I shrugged, though I knew he couldn't see me. "As one without parents of any kind, I don't care. I mean, I think it's a rather odd idea—"   
  
"It's a stupid idea!" Dash cut in furiously. He shoulders almost shaking he spat out, "The best wizards and witches around are parents of the students here. It's the worst risk, to gather them all here together. And of course they'll come. They won't want to leave their children alone during this time. They aren't stupid. Or, rather, they're _that_ stupid, because they care…" He breathed deeply. My uncertainty had increased, and I felt I was doing little good here. I was ready to escape, not wanting to be present any longer, when he finally eyed me. Then his voice changed, as if he were afraid he had scared me. His tone now paternal, he said, "Of course, there will be protection. And Grindelwald can't Apparate here. Plus they are staggering the event over four days---one for each House. So they never will actually all be here on the same day. But still---"   
  
He was rambling again. I cleared my throat to make my presence known again to him. Dash jumped, and then turned around. He was still in shadows, because there was no light on in the room. His voice echoing, seeming disembodied, he said, "Sorry. I'm not really here today. It's been a—a hard time." His voice made a small choking sound, and he turned back around. I felt even more embarrassed. It didn't fit my image of Dash to see him so torn. I knew that I had no experience in these situations, but I still wanted to help in some way. And I fervently hoped he wouldn't begin to cry – I didn't want an image of him doing something I found so…well, pathetic.   
  
Finally in a small, awkward voice I said, "I'm sorry." It sounded feeble even to my own ears, but Dash actually smiled at that. He hesitated for a minute, and then walked over to me. I looked up and could barely withhold the gasp I felt raising in me. Dash was not wearing robes, and in his loose shirt and pants he seemed almost as gaunt as me. His face looked emaciated and ill. His eyes, which had always been a lighter shade of gray than Damien's, were now a smoking charcoal. I hid my horror and tried to smile encouragingly at him, as he had done my first night here to me.   
  
Dash stopped quietly before me, his expression somber. "My mother is at Azkaban, Tom." He paused, and then pushed on before I could say a thing. "It was a quick trial, and she was imprisoned just the other day."   
  
"I-I'm sorry," was all I could think of to say. I didn't think Dash would want anything else. He certainly wouldn't have taken to pity. I looked at him, my insides twisting in a confusing blend of disengaged emptiness and guilt. I felt sympathy but not empathy. I never had anyone close that could be taken away. Except for my mother, but I always tried not to think of her in that way. Finally I asked, "How is your father?" I don't know why I brought it up, but it was easier to ask that about his father than about Damien, or even about Dash himself.   
  
At my question, Damien's eyes burned. He said shortly, "He says that he is broken from it." Internally I cringed, feeling stupid for having brought up his father. I didn't ask anything else, studying my shoe tops when Dash spoke again. I glanced up, seeing his face a statue of impenetrability. His eyes were hollow, and somehow his voice belied his weak physic. I preferred that. His voice still slightly strained, he said solidly enough, "I'm fine. But I think Damien is really distraught about it. What am I saying, of course he is. He's only a child." He saw my slight flinch, and said harder, "Yes, even you are still a child too, Tom. And you may be stronger than Damien, but I am not sure that is something to be so proud of."   
  
I nodded mutely, feeling worse. Even though I didn't really agree with Dash on that one, I didn't say so. Despite what Damien thought, I knew that Dash was protective of his younger brother. My thoughts were further proven when Dash said, troubled, "He won't speak about it at all. I thought about sending him to the nurse, but---" Dash's eyes faded away again. "I did try to keep him away from the court, but they insisted on questioning him. And I wasn't there till the end; I was at Durmstrang, with our father. We were kept away till the very end. Things kept coming up, preventing Father from taking me back home. Damien was alone with her when they came….the officials, and dementors….we didn't even get to say goodbye to her."   
  
I never thought it would have been possible for me to feel sorry for Damien. I didn't know what his home life was like, but this must have hit him hard. And I could relate to not getting to say goodbye to one's mother---though I never really knew mine. But I felt even worse for Dash. Watching him, he looked as if he had just asked me about my break, not said that his mother had been given a death sentence. Perhaps by now, he was too deadened to give off any hurt. I racked my mind, trying to think of things that I'd heard were comforting, but nothing plausible came up. What was I to I say? That it would get better? Tell him not think about it, and move on? Words sprang into my head, but none of them fitted. That certainly wasn't how I felt about my father abandoning me, leaving my mother to die and me to rot. I wasn't over that. And I felt pathetic and angry for not being over it.   
  
My mind spun as thoughts of my past surfaced into my consciousness. I found soft words leaving my mouth, though I was not looking at Dash anymore. "If your mum didn't deserve this treatment, then I hope whoever does pays." My gaze returned to his face, and I added seriously, "And I hope that you get to be the one who does it."   
  
A small crack in his façade spoke millions more than his harsh words. "That isn't the answer, Tom. Do I want revenge? Bloody hell, yes. But I don't think---I don't---I don't know what the answer is. My father says he thinks the way you do." He fell onto his bed, his eyes shutting. Quietly he whispered, "I'm not sure of anything anymore. Is she any more innocent than the children Grindelwald is murdering? I'm not about to spend my whole existence now trying to kill him, though look at all the innocent people he's destroyed. Yes, I am selfish. But I also just don't know if that would really do any good. The people who took my mum, they believed in what they were doing---they were trying to bring Grindelwald to an end. That's what she was charged with, acting under him. So do they deserve to be punished? I just don't know who has the right to do revenge, but I don't think it's me." He opened his eyes, staring into a void in front of himself.   
  
I left quietly. Walking straight into the dormitory, I passed the ruckus of the Common Rooms. In a daze, I barely noticed the Exploding Snap game in front of me till I nearly tripped over the people playing it. I truly was having a marvelous night. Ignoring their indignant mutterings, and the various explosions from a gag wand on the other side, I entered the solitude of the dormitory. First and second years lived together, as did the third and fourth, and fifth and sixth levels. Only seventh years and prefects got a separate room. Dippet had said that, if a big enough grant came in, they would build a dormitory for each grade in all the Houses. I personally thought the money should be spent on scholarships, but I didn't say anything. Either way, it was nearly impossible to find the dormitories empty.   
  
I went over to my bed, where Snicks was laying down eating a rat. I glared at him and said in a soft whisper, "I hope that's not someone's pet."   
  
Snicks glared right back at me and said, "It's nature'sss way. And don't you knock?"   
  
"Don't you have enough manners to not talk with your mouth full?" I stopped, realizing how foolish I sounded, and changed the topic. "I'm sorry, Snicks." He snorted, so I added, "Everything's wrong again." Snicks must have noticed my broken expression, for he left the rat and slithered onto me.   
  
Concern in his hiss, he asked, "What'sss wrong?"   
  
I shook my head. My throat ached as I said, "Just everything. I can't explain it, because I don't even know what it is---I don't know anything. I was so sure that I was finally doing things right, or thinking right---that I should punish those who are bad, who hurt me. That I should stop them before they can. Like my father." My eyes clouded over as I tried to reason my way out of my conflicting thoughts. "But where did I get so righteous? I'm not a better person than anyone else—well, maybe some, but look what I said to Jiminy, and even Cathleen. Everyone seems to think that I'm more inclined to help myself than others, that I don't think of others, and I think that's…well, that's true. But what alternative did I have? And I thought all people were that way. I still do, I think---but I am not sure. And I can't control my magic, and those visions still terrify me."   
  
I sighed, and Snicks said consolingly, "You are better. You jussst need more training, issss all."   
  
I shook my head bitterly. "That's what I thought. But after what Dash said, I think he has a point. It's not realistic that I could defeat Grindelwald, or anyone. In my dreams, I'm not even Grindelwald's real target all the time. Besides, even more than what gives me the right to harm him, what gives me the means? I wish that I knew that I wasn't going and ruining my whole life, by doing something."   
  
"You can't ruin your whole life from one misssstake," Snicks offered.   
  
I shook my head, my voice unsteady. "I don't know that. I wish I knew. I wish—" I paused, and took a deep breath before continuing. I stopped whispering to him in Parseltongue. Forgetting myself in the dark room, I said out loud to no one, "I wish my mum was here, to tell me." That was the first time I had mentioned her in a long time, and the first time that I had ever voiced my desire to have her back. Snicks dropped his head onto my lap, as a cry sounded across the hall.   
  
I jumped up, illuminating my wand. My stomach fell when I saw Damien also standing up. He had been lying not on his bed, but on another second year's named Archers. He appeared as bad as Dash had, only it was clear that he had been crying. The telltale trails and streaks flashed a damp pink against his marble skin. His lower lip trembled, but his eyes looked murderous.   
  
In a voice shaky yet still full of malice, he hissed, "Making up stories to rub it in, are you, Mudblood? You're so glad that my mum is dying right now; you just had to come up here and start in at it, didn't you? You disgust me."   
  
I tried to make my voice mild. "Damien, I had no idea you were here. I mean, it would make sense, but I didn't think of it. I _was_ thinking of you, though, and Dash. He said some things…they made me think of my mum. I really am sorry, Damien. I didn't think it was possible, but I truly am." More so for Dash, but I refrained from saying that.  
  
I waited, expecting more taunting. I promised myself that I wouldn't resort to his level no matter what, for Dash's sake---and hoping I could keep that promise. But Damien didn't say a word. I could actually see the hatred draining from his eyes, replaced by the familiar coldness. In a voice that wasn't sympathetic, he said, "that's right, you don't have either parent."   
  
I sucked my breath in. "No, I don't. Well, my father isn't dead, but he disowned me. My mother is dead, though. Even though I don't remember her, I can relate to missing her, though God – erm, Merlin - knows I try not to." _

Damien was looking at me, curiosity building in his cold eyes. I hadn't planned on spilling all of this to him, but it did put us on more even ground. After all, Dash had told me about his mother, and if I could bring peace to this situation it would be easier on all of us. Besides, I really didn't want Damien going around telling everyone how I had cried out for my mum if it could be avoided.   
  
Damien's expression was now cautious, as if he were testing my patience. "Well, who would have thought we'd share something, Mudblood?" he drawled. When I refused to speak, the childish taunting increased. "What, you only talk to Dash? He doesn't even really like you, you know. He just puts up with you to annoy me, because he hates me."   
  
Damien turned and was about to walk away when I stopped him. "That's not true," I said softly. He glared at me, but I continued through gritted teeth, "He doesn't hate you---he was very concerned about you. More so than himself. I guess when you have someone to worry about, it keeps you sane." Some of what Dash said was beginning to make sense, at least as to who Dash was. More to myself, I added, "It keeps you from risking things, even when you want to." Dash couldn't go after Grindelwald; he had his family to think of. I, on the other hand, had no one to think of or turn to. I resumed looking at Damien, a jealous rage building up within me. Coldly I said, "You're lucky to have him."   
  
Damien was speechless at that. I was completely prepared for another round, but apparently Damien wasn't up for it. His words were slower than usual, from fatigue. He went over to his bed and said in an attempt to be haughty, "What, did Dash tell you that himself? Or did you make it up when you were mumbling to your snake?"   
  
I almost asked, "What?" but clamped my mouth shut at the last minute_. How stupid could I be, he heard me whispering to Snicks!_ I thought furiously at myself. I began to try to think up some frantic excuse for that, when Damien said sleepily, "Honestly, don't you think you're past the age of holding conversations with your pet? Thankfully, I didn't hear a clear word you said…probably better for my sanity."   
  
I stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. I would have laughed if I hadn't been to emotionally spent by now. "Yes," I said seriously. "I'll have to be more conscientious of that." Then I simply stood there, feeling awkward. I didn't really want to go to sleep, especially with only Damien in the room. So I grabbed my new charms book that Vallandora, the Charms professor, had given me. It was for second years. I had indeed been moved up a grade in that. I was trying to quietly exit, but Damien was still awake and caught me. His eyes immediately took in the book, and he said, frowning, "What are you doing with a second year book?"   
  
I tried to smile. "I got moved up a grade. Wonderful news, isn't it?" Damien was silent for a moment, as if thinking something through. I waited for his response, for some reason. I didn't think we were bosom friends now, but for a minute or two the constant hostility had eased between us.   
  
Finally he said, "Too bad you don't have any family to share the news with," and flopped down on his bed. His words cut me, and I stamped out, angry that I had let my guard down. _If that is what families were like, I'm glad I don't have to put up with one, _I told myself.   
  
  
I spent the next few weeks as if a fog had been lifted from me. It really was weird, but I never before paid much attention to the rules that my fellow students lived by. Samantha, for instance, had to write home every day. She said that it was so her parents wouldn't worry about her, and there was nothing worse than making your family worry unnecessarily. Simon always did his studying from eight to ten at night, because that was when his father had told him to. He had grown up with those habits, and he always listened to his father, who in return was proud of him. Randy sent home all of his highly marked papers, which had increased since I tutored him, to his mother. She then sent him cauldron cakes for decent marks, and chocolate frogs for excelling. He claimed that he did it for the candy, but he always got a worried look in his eye when a mediocre mark crept up on him, muttering, "Mum'll kill me. This is so bad."   
  
I realized that there was more to fitting in than learning the spells. At the orphanage at least everyone didn't have a clue how to act. All we were told by the Blunts was to look happy and smile and we would be bought. But here I was the only orphan that I knew of. And it was becoming more and more important to me that I fit in with this new community, since it was the only one I had. I was determined to find out exactly what my heritage was, to fill the empty void inside of me with something, _anything_. I just prayed fearfully that I would not be as disappointed with my mother's side as I was with my father's.   
  
In the meantime, I tried to adapt to those around me, so as to avoid the pity and mocking Damien had so recently cut me with. Damien, also not desiring pity I suppose, used any opportunity to turn on me. Nobody said anything to him, either for fear of reprimand by Dash or discomfort for his own situation. Either way, he now referred to me constantly as "the Mudblood orphan," jeering when I didn't get mail or gifts, or have anyone to show my grades to or write to. I was sick of the misunderstanding sympathetic looks that almost everyone gave me. I needed some way to show them that I couldn't be more content with my situation so that they'd stop. Even if that was the farthest feeling from the truth possible.   
  
I was musing this as I sat in potions class. In actuality it was an interesting class for me, since it combined both the magical and intellectual reasoning. I was partnered with Simon, Cathleen, and William Weasley. We were working on a swelling solution. At the moment I felt fairly safe, since Cathleen was busy with the Gryffindor.   
  
"Hey Billy, _smart_ wand. Is it fourth generation? Is it supposed to show the dragon's scale through the wood? Or is it yet another pathetic hand-me-down?" Cathleen was taunting as she added a Scarab Beetle wing into the vial.   
  
William, or Bill I guess, flamed as red as his hair. He had a terrible temper, as I recalled. He spat back, "At least my family gets my stuff legally."   
  
Cathleen looked furious at that. Simon hurriedly picked up the book, saying to shift the conversation, "Hey Tom, how many Rat Spleens do we put in? We have to calculate that, since our beacon is smaller."   
  
I glanced at the paper, then immediately said loftily, "Three." I left it at that, and Cathleen and Bill went back to their scowling match. Simon glared at me for not helping, and I shrugged back at him innocently. I couldn't help it if I was quick at calculations. I wouldn't downgrade my performance to sooth another's situation.   
  
"I heard your father was promoted—to the Muggle division at the Ministry. That's like when our janitor was promoted to our broom washer. It must be a big night for you Weasleys. Are you going to splurge and share a dog bone for supper?" Cathleen wasn't even bothering to keep her voice down. Her face was red from blood pumping. She had been worse than ever after finding out that Damien's mother was now at Azkaban, too. Other than me, she didn't have anyone to take out her pent up frustration out on. Bill was getting a nice chunk of it now. I thought about stepping in, but then I recalled how Bill had acted the other time I had spoke up in his favor. The last thing I wanted now was his ingratitude again, accompanied by Cathleen's saying how disloyal I was to Slytherin.   
  
Bill had turned an ugly shade of purple. He looked like he was choking he was so mad. But before he could say anything, Zwipp turned up. He looked at each of us in turn, saying mildly in his baritone voice, "Problem, gentlemen…and lady?"   
  
Bill was practically spitting, while Simon was burying himself in the textbook. Cathleen shrugged innocently, her face flushed. Zwipp then turned to me, and asked directly, "What is going on, Mr. Riddle?"   
  
I looked around before saying, "Would you believe a friendly debate?" If I was not a Slytherin and possessing the highest marks in the class, that response might have cost me. But Zwipp, being charitable because earlier I had reorganized his cases of molding troll toes, merely snorted.   
  
Turning, he threw over his shoulder, "Use that mouth of yours to bring some peace to your group, Mr. Riddle. Your debate has made you fall behind the others."   
  
"Yes, sir." I turned solemnly to my group. "I bring you peace." With a wave of my wand, I produced the image of a dove in the air. It blew away too quickly for Zwipp to have seen it. Cathleen and Simon looked confused. Bill, to his credit, actually broke into a grin.   
  
I explained to Simon before he could ask. "It was a dove—it's a peace symbol in the Muggle world."   
  
Cathleen snickered at the mention of Muggle, but Simon interrupted him excitedly. "That was so amazing, Tom! We don't learn how to dispel living images like that forever. Well, till like fourth year. And I've never heard of them doing a—a whatever you said that thing was. How'd you do it?"   
  
I shrugged. "I memorized the dispel spell awhile ago. I just had to picture a dove instead of the owl they used---I began by first drawing it out, since there are no pictures of doves here, and using that as a springboard. And once I got used to doing the spell like that, I practiced doing it without the picture. Now I can do it straight from my mind, and can control its movement and form easier that way. It's an adaptive spell." They all were staring at me. "What?" I asked.   
  
Bill was caught between amazement and still trying to look angry. "We aren't supposed to be teaching ourselves magic."   
  
Simon rolled his eyes. "Oh, back off, Gryffindor. Like you guys never break a rule. I can't count how many times you all have tried to break into the Slytherin commons with those enchanted water balloons. You're just lucky that we are good sports—and that you're tricky to catch. But anyway, Tom, You are going to teach us how to do that, right?"   
  
I smiled, feeling comfortable in my position and surroundings right then. It was a welcome relief, and I said, "Certainly, Simon, if you want me to. But we have to finish this potion or Zwipp will make us eat it. Or drink it, rather."   
  
Bill tilted the glass up and thoughtfully said, "You know, it doesn't look half bad." He looked cautiously at me---as if this were an apology in disguise.   
  
Simon groaned and went to pull it away from him. His eyes were on the clock, which said we had less than ten minutes to finish. "You guys are disgusting. Stop goofing, we have to finish it."   
  
However, I was feeling lighthearted for once, and I didn't want to pass up this opportunity for a truce. One less person detesting me was a nice goal for the day. I caught the closed vial Bill suddenly tossed and held it out of Simon's reach. "You're actually right. It looks like soda…."   
  
Bill pushed Simon's frantic hand away from my vial-enclosed hand. "And you might have been right about that eating part."   
  
I nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I'd imagine the wings and Boomslang teeth would give it a nice textured crunch. Though the poison might be a little rough going down. Cathleen, would you care to try?"   
  
Simon frowned, and then his face brightened as he pulled out his wand and said, "Expelliarmus!" The vial flew from my hand neatly into his. A smug look crossed his face at pulling one over Bill and me. He tucked the vial safely under his arm and said witheringly at me, "I hate it when you start doing your weird sense of humor. It isn't funny, you know." He turned to Cathleen, who was scowling. Only Bill had a quiet smile on his face. I shared it for a moment before my grin faded as I glanced around. Looking at Cathleen reminded me of Damien. I couldn't help but remember how we had hit it off back on the train. He had even said that we shared the same sense of humor. Yes, we'd got on, until he'd found out about the 'unfit' side of me. So much had changed in some ways. And yet, in other ways, nothing ever seemed to.   
  
In spite of Simon's hurrying, which caused another spill that turned his fingers hairy, we finished with three minutes to spare. I did all the calculations in seconds, while Cathleen and Bill cut and measured with precision, giving the ingredients finally to Simon to pour in. When it was over, Cathleen brushed by us without another word, but at least there hadn't been another fight between her and Bill to throw us all in detention or fail. Simon was trying to sneak out to the Nurse's without Zwipp noticing his predicament and subtracting points from our group. On my way out, Bill called to me tentatively.   
  
I turned and looked expectantly at him as he shuffled. Finally, not really looking at me, he muttered, "It wasn't bad---for a slimy Slytherin."   
  
"Same here, Gryffin-ape." We both looked at each other then with caution but not hostility, and then went our separate ways.


	13. Chapter 13: The Clash of the Titans

**Chapter 13: The Clash of the Titans **

If one good thing came out of my new resolution to adapt, it was that Damien no longer was breathing down my neck. Although, that might partly have been because people finally stopped consoling him about his mother, so he didn't need to shift any unwanted attention my way. He, Cathleen, and their following now resumed their normal amount of belittling. I tried to ignore it, and mostly we simply avoided each other. Dash looked sicker than ever, but he acted as if nothing were happening, busying himself with the upcoming parents' day event and Quidditch. Basically, we seemed to be collectively avoiding any and all issues. 

One evening Simon and I were lying on the floor in the common room doing homework. He was the one of the few in our House who studied diligently, but still not as obsessively as me. I took comfort in knowledge and being the finest student. Simon, I think, became a bit jealous at times, as I did of him, though neither of us would admit to it. In truth, I believe he had more reason to be jealous of my work than I of his. Still, in spite of our competitiveness, it was nice at times to have someone else besides me who appreciated learning much as the Ravenclaws did. Although, I tried to put knowledge to use whenever I could, rather than just learning for its own sake. Any bit of learning could be worthy, even if it didn't appear so right away. The simple  belief that at least one other person wouldn't know something that I knew was a soothing thought. 

However, at times like that night, it was hard not to see some homework as futile, especially when I had been writing for hours. Simon and I were revising our useless essays on the Ghoul Wars of 293 A.D. when Randy came in, sighing. We glanced at him and then at each other before shrugging it off. In response, Randy sighed again, louder this time. It was aggravating, but I was finally near the end of the essay and didn't want to encourage interruptions. Simon apparently felt the same way. 

We continued to ignore him as he then moved on to groaning. Finally, when his pacing began to scatter our parchments, I spoke up. "Something the matter?" 

Randy turned to face me. "I am gravely hurt. My family has no faith in me, and it is all your fault." 

I blanched at that, flicking a confused glance at Simon, who shrugged. Puzzled, I said, "Me? What did I do? I don't even know your parents." I probably didn't want to. 

Randy thrust me his recent letter in a mock display of woe. "Read it. My father's last line says, 'and son, thank the good hearted soul who has been saving your hide in all of your studies so that you can keep sending us home good marks.'" His eyes glared, not in complete playfulness. "My mum says that whoever it is, I have to share my candy with." 

I laughed, trying to keep things light. "Keep it. I'd rather have money." 

Randy shook his head. "Can't help you there. I don't keep much on me at school. There's nothing to buy here anyway, till we get to go to Hogsmeade." He flopped down next to us and began looking over our papers. While he did so, he asked, "How is the work-study thing going?" 

I gave a miniscule shrug. "Not bad. They don't really pay me. All the work I do substitutes for my tuition. But I get to learn a lot. And get in good with the professors. I even got to grade our last tests in Potions." I admit, I was dangling bait on purpose there. 

Simon almost jumped on me. "You did? What did we get?" 

I glared at him until he meekly withdrew his hand from my shoulder. "I didn't grade yours." He slunk from me, and I turned to Randy. "I did grade yours, though." 

He eyed me curiously. "Brilliant. How did I do?" 

I became suddenly interested in my quill. "Not bad." He grunted for me to continue. I sighed, and then said, "Zwipp was breathing down my neck. Anyone could tell it was too thick. You got a… well, you almost passed." I looked up to see him glowering. His father was a Potions Master at a very lucrative shop in town, and it was especially important that Randy succeed in that class. I tried to think of something to add that would ease the situation. "Your written section was nice, though. And nobody did terribly well. There was only one O." 

His eyes snapped to mine then, and I knew I had said the wrong thing. "Oh, and I can't image who that would be." I went back to my essay, refusing the taunt. That didn't stop Randy, who had as loud a mouth as I did when he fumed. Only, he never knew when to shut it. 

He ranted, "Well, if I had to spend every free hour I had doing filthy chores just to learn all that extra stuff so I could get in good with the professors and get an O, I wouldn't find it worthwhile." He stood and stomped off at that. I watched him go, debating what to do. Then, noticing that we had drawn a crowd, I immediately went back to work to make the situation seem inconsequential. Yet, I felt a bit bad. I hadn't thought that Randy would get quite so upset, but in retrospect, I had brought it on myself. The nightmares of mine were getting worse again, and between putting up with them, classes, and Damien, I was already on edge. I had been sort of baiting Randy by telling him that I had graded his paper. I knew he would ask me how he and I had done. Unfortunately, my little act hadn't made me feel any better, and now I had Randy mad at me. 

Simon tried to be consoling. "He won't stay mad for long. It's Randy. He'll be fine once he needs your help again." 

I shrugged, concentrating on my writing. Being left-handed, it was especially hard using a quill on this thick parchment. My hand kept dragging along the words, smudging them before the ink could dry. Professor Mothly, the History of Magic professor who was substituting for Binns, was particularly fussy about the penmanship of our essays. I had adopted a rather unusual hand position to survive. I curled my hand over with my wrist hanging in the air. It was effective but tiring---and rather painful. The second I stopped concentrating, my wrist would slap down, ruining the whole thing. And so, I tried to go back to my careful concentration, since I shuddered at the thought of rewriting this long essay. However, Simon kept waving his hand in my face, saying, "Forget about him. Aren't you excited about the Parents Weekend?" 

Now my hand was aching to do another movement. I refrained, saying, "Yes, I am beyond myself with giddiness. I am merely shielding it behind a strong veneer of indifference." Simon withdrew his hand, but that did not curb his enthusiasm. 

"Come on Tom! You can tag along with my family. They won't mind." I looked at him in disbelief, but he wore a genuine expression of happiness at his idea. 

I cleared my throat, and then said through gritted teeth, "Thanks for the offer, but I'll be otherwise engaged." 

Simon looked a little disappointed that his idea had been turned down. "Doing what?" he asked. 

"I haven't decided yet." 

"Oh," Simon said, looking disappointed. My jab had gone completely over his head, and he looked confused at my snort. It was mirrored by Randy, who had returned to the common rooms. He was sitting, reading for once, in a corner, but he had overheard us. I couldn't help smiling a little. Even if he was furious at me, Randy could never resist a witty comment. I excused myself, heading for the library. Even though I had all tomorrow night as well to do the essay, I never liked putting work off until the last minute. Tomorrow was the Slytherin's Parents Day, so I would easily not be noticed if I stayed in my room for the evening. During the day I would be with Wynn getting the grounds ready for exhibiting, so no schoolwork could be done then. At night, knowing I'd probably be in a foul mood after work, I imagined lying down reading or practicing charms by myself. 

I was walking in my usual quick pace when I saw a figure looking out a lone window on the first floor. The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate his face, and I saw that it was Dash. He was staring out, completely lost somewhere in his mind. I paused, hesitating. Dash seemed to desire nothing but privacy of late, and I wanted to honor his wishes. I felt bad for him, but there was nothing I could do. I had just made up my mind to continue past him when he spoke to me. 

His voice was rough from lack of usage. "Evening." 

I approached him cautiously. "Hello, Dash." I remained silent after that, letting him lead the discussion. After all, he had ignited it. 

He didn't face me, so all I saw was his profile, bathed in the soft natural glow. His eyes were the same dark charcoal...I had never known eye color to change like that. The purplish bags under his eyes might have accentuated the effect. He looked much worse than Damien, but then, Damien had taken his anger and sorrow out on others. Dash hadn't had that reprieve. 

He asked me about classes, and I responded civilly. It was apparent that this was not what he wanted to discuss. 

I thought he might ask me about Damien again. The only other time we had talked was when Dash  had asked me if Damien seemed all right when out from under his older brother's gaze.  He of course knew that Damien and I were only roommates and nothing like close companions… I suppose he didn't feel comfortable asking any of Damien's friends. Inside, I chafed that all the attention I had received from Dash of late had related to Damien, but swallowed my complaint with no outward emotion. 

Standing still, I readied myself for another bout of his fraternal concern for the ungrateful Damien, but instead he said softly, "Tomorrow is going to be hard." 

I ran through the options my mind listed for responses. "I guess." 

Dash turned to me slightly on that cue. In a rather harsh tone he said, "Nothing gets to you, does it?" 

I looked back at him, biting my tongue hard. He finally sighed and turned, muttering, "Sorry." Then, just as quietly, he offered, "It must be hard for you as well." I shrugged, and he continued, "Damien told me what you said before. About your mum." 

My eyes flashed with humiliation and anger. I averted my gaze, but Dash cut in quickly, "It's fine, Tom. I told Damien not to say anything to anyone else. And even if he meant  what he said to be demeaning, that's not how I looked at it." 

He had become paternal again. I supposed there was something in playing that role that eased his pain, as there had been for Sean at the orphanage. I really didn't like to think of Dash in Muggle terms, so I shoved such thoughts aside, turning to leave. On my way out, he called back to me, "You are coming to the event tomorrow, right? I'd like to introduce you to my father." 

Even I caught the strain in the last line. If Mr. Malfoy was anything like Damien, I doubted he would desire an introduction any more than I did. 

I curtly told Dash as much and left for the library. This time he made no move to stop me. 

The night was swallowed up with my nose in a book, studying things I half-heartedly told myself would be useful. 

I learned a probably more important thing the next afternoon. Doing groundskeeping work was worse than being set on fire and burning to death while somehow simultaneously drowning in a tightly enclosed claustrophobic space. 

I had come up with that description about three hours into working with Wynn outside. It had been boiling, and we had been given the task of weeding and de-pesting the yards. We had to work all the way around the castle, changing old flowers for new blossoms, moving the more dangerous plants out of the parents' way, chasing gnomes and other creatures into the forest. Wynn, for some reason, adored outdoor work, and forbade me from using magic to quicken the task. Thus, I greeted many of my housemates' families dirty, sweaty, and smelly; lugging sacks or pushing barrels to and fro. Most of my House didn't point me out, probably in shame, for which I was grateful. It was humiliating when Simon yelled at me, waving frantically. He performed a quick introduction, and his parents greeted me the way one does a gimping hunchback. Or one of those Muggle beggars scouring the streets of London who had appeared deformed to me on my way here, though I could call to mind no specifics of why. Needless to say, they were relieved I hadn't taken Simon up on his offer to tag along with them. 

A few hours after Wynn's torturous 'fun,' I trudged through the castle to the Slytherin rooms. I grimaced with every step, realizing that I did not have the physicality for hard labor. I had gunslinger's hands, not farmer's hands, Wynn had teased me. Looking at them, I thought they more closely resembled claws now. Any revealed skin was burned and hot, and my body ached in places I normally didn't even acknowledge that I possessed. Limping, I ignored the shrieks that came from Cathleen and her kennel of a family. 

Once I got to Miss Tress, she haughtily held her nose as I passed in. There thankfully wasn't anyone in the common room, since everyone was out with their families. I headed for the shower, not planning on ever leaving it. I detested being unkempt, feeling filthy even hours after the grime was gone. Unfortunately, the hot water gave out after a while. When I became aware that my thin layer of flesh felt like ice and my body was shivering, I couldn't abide it any longer, and reluctantly got out. At least the inches of caked mud had left. 

I changed into some comfortable Muggle clothing. It was too hot for my robe to cover it, and I had nothing else. At the moment, I didn't even much care. I flopped down on my bed, exhausted. 

I awoke some time later as a fiery pain shot throughout my upper torso. Someone was shaking my shoulder. I groaned and tried to push them away. Through my clouded gaze I saw Dash standing over me. I groaned again, trying to lie back down. "Please Dash, don't make me. I'm too tired. Do you know how hard it is to chase some of the plants that grow around here?" 

Dash apparently wasn't in the mood for consoling. "Get up! It's almost time for dinner. You need to eat." 

I resisted. "Snicks'll catch a rat for me. I can't even move, I'm so sore!" 

Dash's tone went from firm to commanding. "No. Stop whining and get up. You must  come with us." 

At that I became much more alert. Staring at him, half-infuriated, half-curious, I repeated, "I _must_?" 

Dash amended his statement, but his eyes retained the same unmoved quality. "You should come. All right? Please?" I stared at him, not understanding the severity in his demeanor. Still, he had been through a lot, and if I didn't go, Damien might taunt me for not being a supportive Slytherin again. Groaning, I stood and reached for my shoes. As soon as they were on, Dash was pulling me out of the dorms. 

"Wait!" I protested, tugging back. "I'm not even wearing a robe!" Dash didn't let up, throwing over his shoulder, "Doesn't matter. We don't have time. At least you're wearing a green shirt. Come on." 

He dragged me far away from the Slytherin dungeons, up the stairs and into the Great Hall. It was decorated beautifully, with spring flowers and small pixies everywhere. Wreathes of blossoms were magicked to hang in the air, holding up various candles that gave off a lavender scent. All of the Slytherin families were present, along with the faculty. They were all milling about and chatting. From the snatches of conversation I caught, the subject matter was very different from that of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff parents. I had heard that the topics for those Houses mostly dealt with the war and the safety procedures Hogwarts was implementing for their children. The tone there had supposedly been tense and thick. 

The Slytherin gathering, however, was much the opposite. The atmosphere was formal but relaxed, the topics mostly about politics and the parents' work. Most of the Slytherin students were participating in enthusiastic support of their parents to whomever would listen, like trained public relations experts. I had to smile at that, for in the other cases the students had separated from their parents and professors when the conversation shifted to more adult matters. But here, even the Slytherin first years were participating perfectly in their elders' politics discussions. 

Dash pulled me up in front of a tall, sturdy man. Upon appraising him, there was no mistaking who he was. I wondered if all the Malfoy men resembled each other. Mr. Malfoy had the same light blond hair and pale skin as his sons. His eyes were light gray, like Damien's, and his thin mouth bore the Malfoy smirk. The only difference was that his face was not rimmed with fatigue and sorrow like his sons' were. He had one hand placed on Damien's shoulder, like his son was a trophy, as he listened to Professor Wingram gush about the boy's Quidditch talent. 

"Yes, yes, of course, if you'll recall, I myself played for Slytherin when we were at school, Josie. Of course, I wasn't the Seeker, I was a Keeper, which requires much more strategy. Not that I'm not extremely proud of Damien. He wears the Malfoy name well." Mr. Malfoy was saying this pompously to Professor Wingram, who was nodding somewhat less enthusiastically. Damien, who had been looking proud, suddenly seemed crushed at his father's remark. I was less intrigued by his response than the fact that Mr. Malfoy had apparently gone to school with Professor Wingram. Was everyone here interconnected? 

I didn't have long to ponder this. Dash was now beside his father, clearing his throat loudly. Mr. Malfoy, Damien, and Professor Wingram all turned to face us, with differing looks. Damien was sneering, Professor Wingram looked mildly surprised, and Mr. Malfoy was impenetrable as he slowly looked me over. I was wearing a shabby green shirt much too large even for me, baggy gray pants, and my ancient black shoes. Everyone else, if not in immaculate robes, wore expensive clothing in black, silver, or green. Even the professors, I noticed dismally. 

Making his cursory once over, Mr. Malfoy's eyes turned condescending. "And what is this, Dashell?" Professor Wingram moved away uncomfortably at that. Dash turned his equally cold eyes to his father and replied, "This is one of my first-years. The finest student we have, in fact. He shall definitely help bring the House Cup to Slytherin as you brought it to our House when you were in school, father." Dash's voice seemed caught between wheedling and defiance, and I had a slowly growing suspicion of what else it was about me that he was about to say. In desperation over Gail, he was willing to throw anything Mudblooded at his father that might sway him, especially a promising student who might be a benefit to the Slytherin House. I could see Dash's mind trying to work out tactfully how to proceed.

Mr. Malfoy didn't bother to hide his surprise. At the sight of me he exclaimed, "You are in Slytherin?" His look certainly didn't decrease as Damien threw in, "He's a Mudblood orphan." 

Dash shot his brother a death glare, as Mr. Malfoy repeated incredulously, "_You_ are in Slytherin?" I had a fairly large amount of responses aching to get out, but I just nodded stiffly as Dash hurried on, his tone placating and calculated. "Father, this is Tom Marvolo Riddle...I told you of him. He's the finest student in his year." He looked at his brother as he added, "He's already in some of Damien's classes. I've tried to get Damien to be tutored by him in Charms, but--" Damien shot a ferocious look back at Dash. Mr. Malfoy missed the interaction between his sons as he looked at me. Slowly he repeated, "Tom Marvolo Riddle? I don't recall that name." 

I nodded again, trying to smile. "You wouldn't yet." Mr. Malfoy exchanged a glance with Damien, sharing a nice bonding moment over their communal dislike of me. Meanwhile, Dash was still frantically adding information about me. "He is a half-blood, Father. His mother was a witch, but he grew up outside of the magic community, in a Muggle orphanage. But still, even being that far behind, he's the brightest one. Sort of like Gail was." At the mention of Dash's former girlfriend Mr. Malfoy stiffened in complete revulsion. Dash ignored it, plowing onward--"They aren't pure-blooded, but that really isn't telling anything at all. In fact--" 

"I have heard enough," Mr. Malfoy interrupted his son coolly. He was now regarding both of us with disgust. Damien had stormed off and was now sulking in a corner. To Dash, Malfoy said quietly, "I hope that you are pleased that you ruined this day for your family by trying to parade your..._despicable_ beliefs. Get ready for Durmstrang next fall." 

Then he turned to me, looking as if I were a defective object. In an irritatingly superior tone like the one I'd imagined the Muggle Moses using to part the Red Sea, he sneered, "Goodbye, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Take a look at a real wizard while you can. I don't expect I'll see you again… unless, in the future, I am forced to travel through the streets of London and  should happen upon you clearing garbage with all the rest of the Mudbloods. A drudge in Slytherin." An amused expression came over his face as he added, "yes, I very much doubt you'll last long." 

I took a deep breath, and then said back with a scornful smile, "I won't forget you, Mr. Malfoy. And don't worry, I doubt that we'll have another meeting like _this_." 

He stopped, confusion flickering across his empty eyes. Then with a final sneer, he spun away and walked off. 

I added softly to myself, "I expect by the next time you see me, you'll be groveling for forgiveness at my feet, as I heard you did for Grindelwald." I don't know what compelled me to recall that rumor, but it certainly seemed appropriate to his insincere character. Imagining it didn't make me feel any better, though. I felt anger and shame, and I directed it inward. In this room were the people who ran the magical community, and they all detested or pitied me… or both. I wasn't any better off in this situation than I had been back in the Muggle world. All the Muggle world gave me was a selfish coward for a father and a living situation that plagued me to this day. And after everything I had overcome--having been abandoned and beaten, starved and ignored, mocked and humiliated all of my life--I would not let my life after all that amount to nothing. I needed something_, anything_, to alter my image, or I'd never amount to anything. 

_Yes_, I told myself, trying to calm down. _Just getting furious never does anything. That might have been the Tom Marvolo Riddle way, but it's not my way anymore. I don't care if it takes all my time at Hogwarts, or even after;I will become something more. I won't end up as a push toy for someone like Malfoy or the Blunts_. In a sudden, guilty realization, I thought, _I won't let myself become what Dash is for his father._

"Tom?" Dash was looking at me. I snapped back into reality, unclenching my contracted fists. I looked at him. He was trembling, a sheen of sweat glistening across his bleached face. His eyes were black, and except for the  bags of burden under them, he was startlingly white. He looked dead already. "I-I'm sorry, Tom. I'm so sorry. I thought that, if he met you, that he might rethink his position. And maybe Gail's. I should have known better by now. I should---" 

I interrupted him. "That man, change? Hardly. He hasn't enough in him." Dash's face looked strained, and I stopped berating his father. A bit more kindly, and not quite sincerely, I added, "No, I don't mind having been used as a pitch for you and Gail." I couldn't resist also adding, "Don't worry, he'll get his comeuppance." 

Dash shook his head. "He's too powerful, too useful. My father is quite the politician. It wasn't that hard for him to become what he is. Apparently all he had to do was lose his heart." 

I nodded slowly. "That is a problem, isn't it? It's easy to be against everyone, but some prove more useful than others. Wizards, especially good ones, are harder to wish destruction on than, say, Muggles. Theoretically, for some. But everyone has their limits, Dash--he won't be useful forever." I suddenly became aware that I was again speaking of his father, and turned to Dash ready to apologize. But Dash, for once, wasn't looking at me in horror. More in sadness, regret... and, perhaps, agreement? 

All he said was, softly, "I'm afraid that you're right." Whether the fear was that his father wouldn't get his soon, or that it would eventually come, I couldn't tell. All I know is that Dash got that faraway look again, so I left him in troubled peace. 

Feeling the evening had been sufficiently ruined, I was preparing to exit for the dungeons when I caught sight of a pair of keen eyes. 

I stopped, startled, my eyes widening as I remembered where I had seen them before. The man that night at the Christmas Eve orphanage party--Grindelwald. He was wearing the same blue robes and matching hat. He was near the buffet table, sipping pumpkin cider, looking at me with a wicked grin. I looked around, trying to catch Dumbledore's eye, when I heard a voice inside my head whisper, _"He won't be looking."_

I spun my face to the man, feeling my heart leap to my throat. He was beckoning me over. I gulped and tentatively walked up to him, looking frantically around me. No one seemed to notice me. I wanted to cry out, to scream for help, to pull out my wand, but some keen instinct prevented action. I had to know what he would do.

Finally, I found myself standing right before him. The man looked middle-aged, with a creased, terminally sunburned face from one who had spent a great deal of time outside. His hair and beard where shoulder length and brown, with flecks of gray. But it was his eyes that absorbed most of his face. They were large and light, a mix of violet and blue. His pupils weren't more than specks, and I am certain I actually saw sparkles in them. 

He spoke in a voice filled with whimsy. "So we meet again, Parselmouth." 

My voice shook, though I tried to quell the tremors. "Grindelwald?" I hated that it came out sounding like a question.

At that, the man laughed in soft mockery. "Oh, don't you recognize me?" 

I stared at him, trying to make my voice just as flippant. It only came out as high. "I know you were the man at the orphanage. And Dumbledore said you were Grindelwald." 

His eyes danced. "You don't know me from anywhere else?" I stared at him, but found myself stubbornly refusing to mention the visions. I didn't want to give him that pleasure, of thinking his acts were worthy of my remembrance. However, when I shook my head, he mimicked, clicking his tongue. "Well, we must see what we can do about that." 

Before I could move, he reached out and grasped my head with his hands, pressing them painfully against my temples. Images flashed before me, almost making my knees buckle. _The phoenix, the smoke and blackness, the snakes ripping upward through my skin and out of my mouth, and the laughter, oh God that laughter that left me quaking every night in fright, it was there, it was---it was--- _

My eyes flew open, my body trembling from the shock. I inched my way apart from him. At that, the man grinned and flicked a calloused hand outward. "Bertold Grindelwald, And of course, I already know you." He gave a deep-sounding laugh, a noise that shook me. "I've known you for a very long time, Marvolo. Oh, no," he said, eyeing the surprise he saw on my face, "I won't call you by that horrid Muggle name; not as though you're misunderstanding a professor. No, Marvolo is more fitting of a wizard like you... don't you think?" He smiled smugly at that, as if he had made a personal joke and was pleased I didn't get it. It aggravated me, but there was little I could do about it. I was too flustered to try to decipher what he meant. 

He went on. "It is so clear. I don't know how Dumbledore missed it. Of course, he never paid attention to the details that I did, nor does he have the power of Sight." The more confusion I showed, the more pleased he seemed to become. "Still, even I wasn't completely sure at the orphanage. And I couldn't exactly risk making that big a mistake, now could I? No, it was much better letting Dumbledore take you in. Of course, I did help you escape that Muggle hell-hole...and that little mark on your palm was just my way of taking credit. Since then, I have been testing you in my little ways. I suppose you found that out? My methods still worked, I'm pleased to say, though your mind is quite strong. It didn't allow for much outside control, that was evident. Some of the scenes in your visions were put there by you yourself; you possess a very good mind for defense. I surmise you've had the practice for that, though you probably don't like to think of your childhood as _practice_…or, do you?"

He seemed in an odd way complimentary, degrading, and questioning. I stared, unsure, as he prattled on casually, "Yes, quite the brilliant mind in oh…just about everything. Plenty of power there, regardless of magic. No potential for the Sight, though, and a definite disregard for authority. You aren't minding your manners with that frown, young man. Oh, Dumbly, even if he doesn't suspect, it was very clever of him to keep you here. To limit you." He reached out to me, softly saying, "But I know that you feel differently, Marvolo. Like I do. They underestimate me. I could train you; yes, I could easily keep you." His voice was soft and soothing…

I jerked myself out from his spell and reach, snarling, "What am I, a pet? Leave off." 

His eyes merry, he snorted, "Oh, tough,are we? Come off it, you know I can teach you things. Give you the power you desire, without regard to the pathetic notions of people like Dumbledore, who believe in what is good and evil." 

"Yes, you could teach me… as easily as you could lure me away from safety and kill me. Or drive me insane. Excuse me for doubting your concern for my well-being. I'll just stay here, nobody here has put me in the hospital." I was feeling firmer now, my natural attack instinct running high. 

Finally, the smirk left Grindelwald's face. Less pleasantly, he responded, "Pathetic. You're staying here because you think it's safer? They won't care about you. Foolish child. Perhaps I was mistaken about you." 

I stepped up and gave him a cold smile. "I think you underestimated me. That was a mistake. Why should I go with you, to learn to be your second fiddle? No, you tested me, and I did pretty well, didn't I? I didn't die, didn't go insane. So now you're left with begging me to join you. Not a very attractive invitation for someone who has higher ambitions than becoming apprentice to a common murderer who can't even do away with a -twelve-year-old. I find that rather pathetic. And know this--I don't forgive, or forget. Nobody who uses me like that will get away with it." 

If looks could kill, I would be lying flat on the floor. He turned purple, and all suppression faded. Unfortunately, since he couldn't murder me by sheer facial expression, Grindelwald hissed, "Foolish, arrogant child! You have made the one mistake you'll live to regret. Actually, you won't... _Crucio_!" He had pulled out his wand and aimed it at me as a bright light shot from its tip. I fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Waves upon waves of every kind of pain imaginable seared throughout my body, aching and stabbing, burning and chilling, beating and crushing every part of me. My body went rigid, my back hyper-extending and extremities curling under the unrelenting light. It was beyond any kind of physical pain that I had known, careening through all the layers of my being. Its power was total and complete, and I felt my spirit slowly cracking beneath the physical torment. Desperation built, but it focused my attention, my energy. I was pulling inward, losing consciousness, but struggling not to give in with every ounce of control I still had. 

My efforts weren't enough…I felt myself slipping, plunging downward, unable to battle back on my own…

Suddenly, the light encasing me ceased. The pain didn't dissipate that quickly, though. I still couldn't move, my body was comatose and inflexible with spasms. My vision blurred around me, dark spots dancing in the grey. Weakly I lifted my eyes to see Dumbledore standing next to me. A little away from him was Grindelwald, scowling. He saw me watching and his glare increased. Sitting next to me was Dash, kneading my shoulders and arms. This was a quick way to cause the muscles to unclench. He was watching me fearfully, almost guiltily, as I whispered to him reassuringly, "He--couldn't--kill me. Why didn't--he try--the Killing Curse..." 

"Shh. I think he was about to, when you blasted him clear across the room! Thank goodness you're still young enough that your inner magic could burst free like that; it broke his concentration and you two were visible again. Thankfully, Dumbledore then saw you two quickly enough that--" 

He began trying to pull me up, but the pain was too great. I whimpered as my muscles bunched again, "Dash, don't! I can't, it _hurts_!" My voice must have been frantic enough, for he stopped pulling at me. Dash was too weak nowadays to pick me up anyway, so he just stayed by my side. 

Everyone around us was frozen as Dumbledore and Grindelwald squared off. Grindelwald now really looked less than pleasant. Seething, he spat, "Oh, come now, Albus. Must we go through this again?" 

Dumbledore wasn't smiling either, but he said, "This will be the last time, if you don't run away again." He raised his wand, and in his eyes I saw a look of such bleeding determination, and a loathing contempt I hadn't thought he had in him. In a tone that shook me more than the hissing of his foe, he commanded, "_Stay away from my students." _

Grindelwald was likewise posed, retorting murderously, "Oh, I noticed you listening in to our conversation long before that part, Dumbledore." He turned to me, his eyes taking in my crippled form,and Dash beside me. "Don't let him lie to you, Marvolo. He was waiting to hear how you responded to my offer before he helped you. He doesn't really care much for you then, does he? Only if you do as he says, are his idea of a Hogwarts student, will he step in and--" 

"That is a lie!" Dumbledore shouted furiously, and he was about to shout something else when Grindelwald shot a firebolt out of his wand at another student. Dumbledore quickly turned to dispel it, as Grindelwald pointed his wand at Dash and said, "It's also about time we dealt with the turncoat Malfoys.... I think they have this one coming." My eyes widened, but before I could scream out in warning Grindelwald carelessly said, "Avada Kedavra." 

Dash's eyes widened... but only for a second. 

My soul froze as I struggled to move, to get up, to just roll over and help him. He was different; he was the only person I had to turn to. Even if I was jealous of his relationship to Damien, even if he had used me in the hopes of winning his father's favor with Gail, he still was the only person who I knew had some sincere appreciation for me. I didn't want that to end, but I was too weak to move. 

The last look he gave me was haunting...all I could think of was the phoenix, and of its pleading, desperate spirit crying out. I struggled, crying out for him to hang on, never leaving his eyes though the smoke rising from his burning skin curled around me, the heated ashes obscuring my vision. I watched as those pale eyes slowly changed, turning red with accusation and pain as Grindelwald poured his hate into Dash. I heard the fiend's hissing laughter, and in agony I pushed past the limits of human effort to move. The laughter was mocking me, guilt swam in my pounding heart...I had to help him, I could move, if I was as strong for him as I had been for myself… but I had used up all my strength. I tried to tap into more. Finally, I reached out, to touch him, to grasp-- 

His dead corpse. It had collapsed onto my chest. There had been no burns, no glares…that had been Grindelwald again inside me, manipulating my emotions for his amusement. Dash himself seemed to have just died…a second after mere words were cast, his life had been taken by their power. As the head lolled to the side, I caught its old likeness…except that it now was petrified into a look of twisted agony and fear. I swear I saw his spirit rising away from him in smoke.... I tried to crawl out from under him, coughing and gasping as horror overcame me. I could only move my head now; I turned to Dumbledore in help....only to see him just being released by Mr. Malfoy. At that, I convulsed. Mr. Malfoy had been holding Dumbledore under the Cruciatus Curse. He had condemned his son to death. 

Bile over the atrocity rose within me, and I looked past the confliction and pain in his face to find fear. Fear of Grindelwald. For that, he'd sacrificed his son.

A woman screamed...and all of a sudden a stampede began. Mr. Malfoy was shoved, and in that the final vestige of his spell over Dumbledore broke. Dumbledore, to his credit, got up quickly and spun. But in the clatter from all the rushing parents, he couldn't get a clear shot of either Malfoy or Grindelwald. My eyes narrowed....hatred rose up with the immense power of a smoldering, murderous volcano. 

"Otherss might be in on it!" Some shouted. "Just hit them! Use some spell, get them on the ground and sort them out later!" Useless prattle, from worthless people. I ignored their cries, trying to reason my way to some end to the pain inside.

But there was nothing that could be done. Dumbledore and the other professors followed the hysterical group outside, but I knew they wouldn't be caught. I was left in the room, trying to scrape myself out. 

Suddenly the weight of Dash's body was lifted from me. I looked through a mask of tears to see Damien crouching above me. 

He cradled Dash's body for a minute. Then, he released it,  letting the shell of his brother slump lifelesslyto the ground. Even the eyes of the living boy were empty, soulless. Broken. As he backed away from me, he never shed a single tear. I think he lost the capability…I wished I had.

By the time that the professors and other students were back, I was hollow as well; wrung out, until I felt there was nothing left inside of me. I needed to sleep, to fall into unconsciousness. But then Dumbledore was next to me....along with Mr. Malfoy. They were staring at each other with utter hatred, but that was all that they were doing. I managed a strangled croak, and both looked down. Dumbledore leaned over, and I whispered to him, "Kill him!" 

Dumbledore shook his head. In fact, his whole body was shaking in different directions. "He says that he was under the Imperius Curse." He saw my look of utter disbelief and snapped, "I can't kill him, Tom!" Then, more calmly, he said, "I won't. If there is even the slightest chance that he is telling the truth, I cannot just kill him. But if he is proven guilty, I feel confident he won't go unpunished." 

The steel in his eyes made me pause, but only for a moment.I laughed, coughing up blood. I had bit off part of my cheek while under the Cruciatus Curse. "Of course he will. It doesn't matter if he's evil incarnate. The issue of evil won't even be present. It's all about power. He won't get punished for killing his son because he has enough clout and money to support any lies he tells." Glaring up through glazed eyes, I added vehemently, "he should be killed."

Dumbledore suddenly leaned forward and grasped me hard, not to hurt me, but in absolute frenzy to get his point across. "Do not wish for vengeance without verification, Tom. Listen to me, I can help you, but you have to believe me, killing isn't the way. Dash wouldn't want it, he didn't believe in it." 

"Didn't he?" I asked softly. I twisted painfully to see his corpse. Standing beside it was Mr. Malfoy. His hand was on Damien, his only possession now. The elder Malfoy was weeping, well enough that it almost seemed sincere. "No, I guess in the end, he didn't. And look where he is." 

Dumbledore took my face in his hands, the emotions of fear and concern overwhelming in his eyes. "No, Tom. Think of what he was, _who_ he was. You have a choice. Please believe me, I can guide you in the right way. You've come so far--" 

_Yes,_ I thought, tuning him out. _I have._

Dash meant a lot to me. Perhaps both of us cared too much.And yet, I couldn't agree with Dash's philosophies, not while I was staring at his body. His beliefs resembled Dumbledore's too much. He had let his love for his family blind him to them, and they had turned and killed him. 

I could say that he had been wrong. In some ways, it was easier to try to see faults in Dash now, knowing he wouldn't be part of my life anymore. Even before that, I knew he hadn't been perfect…or exactly family to me…that probably never would have happened, even had he lived. I reasoned this to myself, with even my inner voice straining. But regardless of how I tried to deaden myself, I couldn't fully. The image of him pierced me, the empty eyes burning into me, and the feeling this brought was worse than anything I'd ever experienced. The only thing I was certain of was that caring for another brought nothing but pain. All others brought me pain..this was a new kind, though. I was almost angry at Dash, for bringing me to this state, more unbearable than any other form my suffering had taken. 

I almost wished I hadn't cared. 

But I couldn't, not quite yet…not with him lying so close and still.

"Tom?" Dumbledore's voice was soft again, prompting me to drift back. I forced my gaze to him, as he continued, "It's going to take a lot to heal from this. I can help you, though. You must keep your heart open, no matter how much it hurts. This isn't the easy way, but it is the best. Believe me--" 

I forced a chilled smile, replying, "I'm fine. Really. And I do believe you, sir. I'll listen to you." 


	14. Chapter 14: The Summer From Hades

**Chapter 14: The Summer from Hades**

  
  
I stood at the platform, watching the Hogwarts Express steam out of sight, returning home. Around me I could hear the chaos of shuffling feet, my classmates dispersing for summer in all directions. I just stood still, hanging onto my cart. I didn't have anywhere to go. The professors had been too preoccupied with the Grindelwald catastrophe to do much more than inform me I should return to the orphanage. I was, frankly, relieved in a way. I had wanted to forget about Hogwarts for a while. My nightmares came every time I slept now, only they were no longer cushioned in symbolism. Each night, I watched helplessly as Dash died, his body falling onto me as guilt filled me and cold laughter rang in my ears. While I did nothing. Was unable to do anything. 

Was worthless.   
  
But I couldn't stay on platform nine and three-quarters forever. Sighing, I trudged through the barrier, zapping through to the Muggle world. Around me were hurrying people, each with somewhere to go. I didn't have the luxury of a clear purpose or direction. The orphanage seemed an impossible place to return to. Truth be told, I hadn't given this problem much thought. Most of my time had been spent in the restricted section of the library, looking for any way to bring Dash back. I had read ceaselessly, my back and neck in a constant cramp from leaning over tables with my nose in a book, my eyes struggling with weighted lids as I stumbled to classes in between.

 Despite all my efforts, I had found nothing. 

After the realization that he truly was gone had sunk in, I had just wandered around Hogwarts in a fog, working nonstop at schoolwork to avoid thinking. Now I didn't even have that reprieve. I had to find something to do, somewhere to go, or I'd be living on the streets for the next few months. Somehow I shivered even in the May mugginess, physically shaking my head as if to cast the demons out, not caring about the odd looks I received. I forced my mind elsewhere. I had to find something to do, somewhere to go, or I'd be living on the streets for the next few months.   
  
And I didn't even have Snicks with me. Well, he wasn't my pet; I couldn't exactly make him stay by my side. He had said something about visiting some relatives in Brazil... I didn't know how he planned on getting there. Perhaps he just wanted to get away as well. I couldn't rationally blame him for that, though a part of me still did. Either way, it was just me now, with a cartful of books and scrolls, in ragged clothing and shoes that were so tight by now they hurt with every step. Tom the outcast orphan again.   
  
Sighing, I forced my self-pity aside. _Stop being a baby,_ I chided myself irritably. I had to think now, and be practical. I was a survivor, and I could make it on my own. _Think, Tom_. What did I have?  I had schoolbooks... and someone had said that they used most of the same books every year. So, maybe I could turn them back into the store for some money. Then, I could board myself and not have to return to the orphanage. Once decided, the tightness in my chest lessened slightly. I squared my shoulders, heading for the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley.   
  
The bartender, Took, an overweight man with a large grin, was there in his usual position of lolling behind the bar, wiping a dirty glass with a filthy rag. I recalled him from last year when I had entered the smoky establishment with Dumbledore. Alone this time, I hesitated by the door. It creaked shut behind me, loud enough to unfortunately incur notice. Took smiled distractedly at me as his son rocketed around the room bumping into everyone and thing. Took's being the only somewhat pleasant face in the establishment, I started to cross over to him to inquire about the price of rooms when his son collided with me. Knocked over, we sprawled across a table, crashing two glasses to the floor. Angry calls were heard as I straightened up slowly. The boy pushed himself up quickly and ran to his father, who was glaring crossly. I turned around when I heard Took shouting, "Tom!"   
  
I cringed when hearing my name. "Yes?"   
  
The man's eyes narrowed on my disheveled form. "What?"   
  
"What?" I parroted.   
  
"That's what I said. Back off boy, I'm trying to have a conversation." I shrugged, relieved, and began to move on when again I heard in a voice shaking with fury, _"Tom!"_   
  
I spun around. _"What!"_ My voice was annoyingly high and riddled with emotion.   
  
The expression on his face was one of growing agitation. Slowly as if I were an annoying child playing a prank, he said, "I can't talk to you right now!"   
  
"Then why do you keep calling me?!" I shouted back, not caring that by now everyone was staring. Some rather large, hairy, foul-looking men materialized behind him, appearing ready to toss me out at Took's word.   
  
But Took now no longer seemed angry, just a mite confused. "I didn't call you."   
  
_What, is the world out to annoy me today?_ Clenching my jaw, I said, "You said my name. Normally I take that as a sign someone is trying to _elicit_ a response from me." I chose my words carefully and primly to appear mature, until I couldn't resist and added, "But that's just the way my crazy mind works."   
  
The bartender then began laughing. Calling off the henchmen, he then waved me closer. Placing a hand on the small boy who had run into me, he replied, "Oh, that's rather funny, my son's name is Tom, too. Cute, huh?" He eyed me with the familiar grin. Oddly, hearing the word 'cute' from such a burly man as him didn't seem out of place.   
  
"Adorable," I droned in response. Took ruffled his son's hair while winking at me. "You know how it is with these little rascals. Always getting underfoot. Loads of fun, though, even if they make your hair gray. But then, I guess you're a bit too young to start thinking of that. Just wait till you're older though, you'll hope for ten of them!"   
  
"Ugh, no!" I shuddered, before realizing that wasn't really the nicest thing to say. "I mean, erm, I don't think I'd be good with kids. I think I would...break them."   
  
Took laughed at that. "Ya can't break them, sonny! Children are mighty tough ones, they are. Why, I bet every father thinks that at first, til they find out how resilient children are. I bet your dad tackled you when you were younger, too!" He spun his son around as if to emphasize his point, as the small boy let out a delighted squeal. I tried to smile, but sudden tightness filled my chest. I couldn't hide my discomfort very well, for Took stopped fussing with his child and said to me, "You okay there, son? Little Tom didn't hurt ya, now did he?"   
  
I shook my head, softly saying, "No, he didn't." 

Took shook his head, and said to Little Tom in a scolding voice, "Apologize to the other Tom." Little Tom did so, and Took raised his head with a smile on his face, as if I really had been desiring an apology. I gave a tight smile and nod back. A moment of silence occurred, and then Took replied, "Weren't you the boy that Albus took in here awhile back?" When I nodded yes, he smacked his grimy forehead. "Worst memory, I have. Well, the least Little Tom and I can do is get a free meal for you. No, I won't take no for an answer. Sit right there."   
  
_I should get rammed more often_, I thought. I could use the free meals. I sat on the stool, though I wasn't really hungry nor could I stomach most foods. Eating was an annoyance I hated having to do. But I was aware that I needed strength and didn't know when my next meal might come. I forced myself to eat everything on the chipped plate, even though my stomach was really too small for it. He had given me some sort of bacon sandwich, with potatoes on the side and juice to drink. I felt ready to explode when it was over, but a little less edgy. In a more respectful voice I then asked Took, "Are there rooms here to rent?"   
  
He looked a little surprised at my question. "Well, yes. Does your family need a place to stay?"   
  
I groaned inwardly. Dealing with that inquiry would not be easy. "Erm, yes, sir, I think. My..._father_ works most of the time, so he sent me ahead. I doubt you'll see him much. In fact, I have to go meet him now, in Diagon Alley--"   
  
When I said that, Took grasped my arm and practically dragged me across the bar to a corner. In a fierce whisper he said, "Don't mention that place!"   
  
I was confused. "Why?"   
  
His grip tightened. "Because -- dammit, boy, don't you know there's a war going on here? Muggles are jumpier than a stung steed. Any mention of magic, or anything odd, will set them off on you."   
  
I felt drained of whatever color I had. This was what the Muggles Studies professor had been telling us about. I hadn't forgotten about the money I'd stolen from the Blunts, and the last thing I needed was even more attention from the Muggle world. Or the magic world, either, come to think of it. Grindelwald and Hogwarts… I strangled those thoughts down. Shakily, I said, "I have to go--somewhere. I'll come back with the money if I -- if my _father -- _decides to stay here." I went to the back of the pub, thinking. I couldn't very well stay in the Muggle areas with my load of magic supplies. I had to either find something in Diagon Alley to pay for a room, or try and locate Hogsmeade. My head ached as I left. Little Tom was screaming and running around again, and if I didn't leave then I'd curse his feet to ram up his mouth.   
  
I had watched Dumbledore do this, and once I had seen something it usually stuck in my memory forever. I reached out hesitantly with my wand, tapping the bricks, and to my relief they began to move aside to reveal Diagon Alley. Only it was practically empty. 

I wandered in curiously, scuffing up dust on the worn street. In practically every store window was a Closed sign, with no light lit inside. The few bodies that were out were apparently in a great hurry not to be. They all kept their faces down with hoods pulled tightly over their faces to obscure their features, ignoring me as they pushed past. The few gazes I actually managed to catch were frozen in either fright, shock, or dismay. I wandered down slowly, wondering at the oddness that surrounded me in an almost palpable energy.   
  
A paper scattered across the ground, tangling itself around my leg. I reached down and picked it up, curious. The front page's headline read, "Dark Times Ahead." I walked over to the side of the road and sat down on the curb to read the article. The large picture bore the heads of the Ministry, all shaking in fear in front of the partially destroyed Ministry building. My eyes widened at the sight. Smoke rose from the destruction as employees wandered about in the background, dazed as if their own foundations had crumbled along with the government structure. Covered beneath that picture was a smaller one of a grave, where a small gathering of recognizable people stood. The caption for that was "Drackus Salazar Malfoy, head Minister of the Department of Education, still suffers the loss of his eldest son, Dashell Drackus Malfoy. After this tragic event, so close to the loss of his wife in prison, the elder Mr. Malfoy has obviously been cleared of any implications of being connected with the current Dark Lord Grindelwald. Due to his closeness in the matter, and the former Head of Defense's tragic end in the raid on the Ministry's headquarters, it is with a heavy heart that Mr. Malfoy accepts the new position of Head of Defense and subsequent raise. It is with great hope that Mr. Malfoy will return some order to the Ministry, as even petty crimes are going unnoticed during these difficult times, mounting to undeniable paranoia and skepticism from the public over the government's efficiency." -Reported by Redmond Skeeter.  
  
So Malfoy got a raise. I tried to conjure up rage, but I found that I couldn't. A part of me knew that it would be useless. Emotions without actions were futile, and there was nothing I could do against Malfoy at the moment. So I bit back any despair that threatened to rise and stood back up, swaying only a bit. The paper crumpled in my hand, and I couldn't deny a measure of disgust at the Ministry for being too thick to see what really had happened. And at Dumbledore, who knew bloody well what had occurred, but was too chicken to do anything about it. Even at twelve I found that repugnant and weak. Dumbledore's words tried to materialize in my mind, his calm voice imploring me to trust him. Immediately after them came Dash's face, cold and dead. Dumbledore and the Malfoys. Again my fists tightened. Well, let them rot. This wasn't my fight, not anymore. After all, I wasn't really a part of either world, Muggle or Magic. I had already refused Grindelwald. After that, there really wasn't anything else I could do. I was the descendant of a pathetic Muggle and illusive mother, who for all I knew was the first witch in her family. Not the strongest bloodlines.   
  
Dumbledore could fight his own battles. The only thing I wished for him now was a lifetime of seeing the smug look of Malfoy's face over Dash's body each night, as I did. And Malfoy, well, he was obviously nothing more than a chew toy for Grindelwald. If he was willing to let Dash be murdered, he was nothing but a lame servant. He already didn't have much of an existence. And as for Grindelwald--nobody was ready to face him yet. I had felt his power and hatred when he'd touched me. It ran deeper than anything Dumbledore or anyone could have mustered, I was sure. He was also playing by rules that none of them seemed equipped to deal with. It had never even occurred to me how vicious he was, before that Parents' Day. I didn't know where my arrogant feeling came from, but I was sure that I knew him better than the Ministry. I honestly didn't believe that any was up to facing Grindelwald. Not that I was, being a poor Mudblood. But I stood behind my words. I had said that no one used me like he did, and I would die rather than back down. 

I just didn't know what to do about it yet.   
  
I started wandering along the streets again and soon came upon a jagged, matted sign that read Knockturn Alley in what looked like blood. A crow sat atop of the sign, glaring down at me over its chipped beak. I gazed down the street in wonder. Numerous shops cluttered its sidelines like at Diagon Alley, but these stores looked less than welcoming. All of them were coated in drab colors, with tilted roofs and doors broken with twisted signs hanging from the knobs decorated in the same dark red as the entrance plaque had been. A foul stench rose up from the streets, and the lampposts burned with green flames. I walked down the road, almost tripping over the cracked stones. All of these shops appeared to be open, though little traffic flowed through them. I couldn't help but peer in the windows as I passed. Bloodbats and small dragons hung dried in one store. I nearly gagged looking at their bloodless bodies, but puzzlement soon overrode my disgust. It was illegal to hunt dragons anymore, but there they were in plain view.   
  
Curious, I strode further. I saw a shop that carried internal organs floating in jars, with eyes that still moved and mouths that, when the lid was off, screamed deafeningly for help. There was a pink powder in a jar that read, "Eternal Love: one drop and the person will either agree to love you forever or die. Now in peppermint flavor!" Well, it didn't take a genius to realize that that wasn't legal, either. There had been some passages in the History of Magic volumes in the library on streets like this. They were dedicated to Dark Magic, charmed in the past into being protected from Ministry officials' investigations. It was somewhat exciting to witness in person such wonders. I was still staring at a pair of pink eyes in a jar through a smudged window when a croaking behind me made me jump and turn.   
  
I saw a woman...I thought. The bent form had some female attributes but also some features of what looked like an amphibian. Her skin was scaly and possessed a greenish tint, and her pinkish tongue whipped out several inches too far when her mouth opened. She stared unblinkingly at me with eyes that had no lids, and her thin lips pressed back as she hissed out, "Not a good place for children, dearie."   
  
I gaped back at her, gathering my bearings before saying, "Doesn't look too good for anyone." She laughed at that, a croaking hack, and a few flies flew out of her nose. I was disgusted, but tried to maintain a civil expression. I didn't want her to curse me like she obviously had been.   
  
She caught me staring and said slyly, "Appearances are deceiving, child."   
  
Right. There was no way I was going to kiss her in the hopes of her turning into a beautiful princess. She might go the other way and become completely a frog... or something like that.   
  
She tossed out easily, "Looks mean nothing, when you can breathe under water." Holding out her hand, I saw a few gorgeous jewels and a small silver charm nestled in her palm. Continuing, she added, "It's just what a treasure hunter needs, dearie."   
  
I couldn't believe it. "So you did this to yourself?"   
  
At that, sadness briefly broke through her facade. "It was only supposed to occur when I was in water. But you know, transformations can be difficult. Still, it isn't so bad. I've become very rich in the process!" With a final cackle, she pushed past me, saying, "Now, run along, I have to sell some goods!"   
  
I stared after her, and then remembered about my dilemma. I had to sell my books, or I'd never afford shelter, food, or new school supplies. But even if I did sell my things, there was no way I could afford everything that I would need. And most of the shops in Diagon Alley were closed from the disarray in the community. Then my eyes widened. _I am a genius_ I told myself, rushing back to the woman. When I reached her side, panting, she looked at me with slight annoyance. I pushed on anyway. "Ma'am, I think I can help you." Her eyes narrowed, and I said quickly, "I mean, not that you need any. Certainly not at treasure hunting. That sounds fascinating, and you must be good. But, it's just, I'm very good at charms. Maybe I could do something."   
  
A strange look passed over her scaly face. It was one of longing, but deep skepticism. No matter, I had her. Desperation enabled me to believe this. I just had to continue selling my cause. Being down worked wonders on a salesman. And I had learned the finest sales techniques at the orphanage. The Blunts may have been a subspecies of humanity in certain areas, but anyone that could pass off a ten-year-old asthmatic with constant allergies to a young outdoorsy couple looking for a six year old had a gift.   
  
The amphibiotic woman looked out of place in the dark shop, much as she had on the street. Quietly she said, "This is nothing that a young one like you should try to get in to. Run along, now. Back to your parents."   
  
I dropped my head, deliberating, before saying, "I don't have any family. I'm an orphan." Slowly raising my eyes, keeping my chin down in a wounded expression, I replied just as softly, "And helping is something that everyone should do. A dear professor of mine always says that." 

It was too easy. I felt a horrible guilt at using my mum like that, but I really did need money. Rationalizing it through, I stood still and tried to look tall as the woman contemplated me deeply. I offered, "I really do know what I am doing. Test me. Charms are one of my best subjects. Just show me the spell that you used, and I'm sure I can figure something out."   
  
In a troubled voice she said, "I just don't know. A child?"   
  
In a stiff voice I replied, "I'm not just a child, Madame." I could feel my expression darkening, but knew I had won her trust with my solemn words. It had been simple enough. No one could have wanted to go around looking like that. Desperation. It had been a perfect opportunity for me. As a Slytherin, it was almost a bylaw that I had taken advantage of it.   
  
The woman pulled me into a corner and began furiously scribbling something on a parchment. Once finished, she folded it and slapped it into my hand with a hurried, "there." We stood looking at each other for a moment when she shrugged in seeming annoyance and asked, "What?"   
  
"Did you think I was going to do it for free?" I cursed myself with that outburst, and then hurriedly tried to smooth it over. "I mean, I want to help and all, but I don't have any money or food or shelter. I was hoping that---"   
  
"Oh, all right," The woman said crossly. She wasn't regarding me as an angel anymore, but at least she hadn't taken off. She thrust some coins into my hand, barely enough for room and board for a week, then grabbed my sleeve. In a much blacker tone she hissed, "You just better not double-cross me, dearie. I'm not in the business of hurting children, but--" She let her words trail off, shaking me for emphasis. I nodded demurely, and then asked, "How will I contact you when I'm done?"   
  
She released me, stiffly saying, "I am here every Thursday at this time. I expect to hear from you soon. If it works, I'll have better payment for you." With a final warning glance, she swept out of the room. I stood there for a minute, my fingers clinking the coins together in my hand, and then I slowly began to smile.   
  
It took me three weeks of constant work. I had rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron. Took was too busy with an overflow of customers to inquire about my constantly absent 'Father,' which was a nice relief. I locked myself up in my room, not wanting to risk the chance of someone seeing an underage wizard working on magic outside of school. The hag's money hadn't lasted long, so I offered to baby-sit for Little Tom for my room and board. I told Took that it was my Father's idea, to teach me how to be responsible. Took was too busy not to be grateful for my offer and agree. So I put sleeping charms on Little Tom during the day and worked on an anti-charm for the frog lady, as I dubbed her. It was a fitting punishment for his wild antics, I decided. Took was clearly impressed that I had managed to keep Little Tom so quiet all those hours, and had said so. I shrugged modestly, replying humbly that taking care of children wasn't as bad as I had thought. Just remembering to erase Little Tom's memory each night was my biggest responsibility. Little Tom was always confused why he couldn't remember his time with me, and I told him it was part of childhood development. Once I assured him he'd grow out of it, he'd scamper along in blissful stupidity.   
  
I had recognized the problem fairly quickly. She had added too many frog gut slivers for a person of her size. I couldn't find any remedy in my schoolbooks, which made sense. Self-transfiguration was dangerous, and most often related to the dark arts. I had to return to Knockturn Alley several times and spend the afternoon reading the books there. Finally, I came across an account of a man who had done a similar accident to himself. I altered his anti-charm, for he had transfigured himself into having penguin's feet, not frog tendencies. But the basic concepts were easy enough. After many nights of endless work, I returned to the shop and met with her. She was as green and long tongued as ever, but her eyes held hunger and hope. I was beginning to feel a slight bit of nerves. This was another life I was playing with. But I had no choice, and anyway, she had accepted my offer. I left responsibility aside. So we went to a deserted street corner. I had her stand still with her eyes closed, so in case I burned her hair off she wouldn't notice right away. My heart thumping, I raised my wand and said with a slight tremor, "Elimitarmis Qualamphibius!"   
  
Immediately silver sparks erupted from my wand and enveloped her. She gasped as she was lifted off the ground. She screamed in pain as the scales fell off of her body, leaving the skin beneath it to ooze and smoke. Her tongue was falling off. I panted and stepped back, terrified over what I had done. I stood transfixed while this occurred. After a few minutes of spellbinding tossing, her body morphing amid her shrieks, she was unceremoniously dumped on the ground, unmoving, hidden beneath her long purple cloak.   
  
I killed her, I thought numbly, sliding down the wall. I killed her. My stomach dropped, and then proceeded to lift back up when I heard her cough. I hurried over to her side, helping her upright. Her skin was still red and burned, but it was human. Her mouth was swollen, and she looked at me in horror. I tried to smile encouragingly at her, with a confidence I certainly didn't feel inside me. I conjured up a mirror and help it out for her to see. She looked at herself and immediately broke out in sobs.   
  
Uncomfortable, I stood there as she cried, "It's been s – s- so long, it's been so long!" over and over again. My frozen heart actually warmed a little. I even felt a smile curl on my face. Yes, this had benefited me more, but it was nice to have helped for once. I never was in this position before.   
  
She looked back up at me with swollen eyes red with relief and whispered, "Thank you. You don't know how much---if there's anything I can do for you--" She was rambling on, but my mind now focused on the next problem I faced. She was certainly willing to give me whatever I wanted. I could be rich. But there's no way I could explain that to Dumbledore or Dippet. For all they knew, I wasn't supposed to be doing magic at all, for any reason, and using dark magic on another person without training was definitely enough to get me expelled. I couldn't tell them the truth--they wouldn't understand how desperate I had been. They would only think I was trying to show off. And no reason I could come up with would rectify it. I sighed, knowing what I had to do in this situation.   
  
"If you could just buy me some new clothes that would be plenty. And a few school supplies." Room and board I had covered with Took. That was legal, except for what I had done to Little Tom. I could trade my books for new ones, and keep my work-study job for tuition. The lady, I could really call her that now, wanted to offer me much more, but I declined. And looking at her, I only felt a little disappointed that I hadn't gotten more out of my good deed.   
  
The rest of my summer flew by, a busy, blessed blur. I now had some more clothing. The woman, whose name turned out to be Mara Fluris, had wanted to purchase for me only the most expensive clothing, but I couldn't risk it. Dumbledore would certainly recognize if I suddenly started dressing up to my house's standards. I let her buy me warm pajamas, and new shoes thank god, and some used sweaters and pants that weren't in fashion. No one would really see my pajamas or shoes. I might have been acting paranoid, but I had to play it safe. The closer the school term was to starting, the more skittish I became over my act. I also became more and more curious about these arts that could transfigure humans and held so much power. It was easy to see why they were outlawed--they were dangerous to people like Mara who couldn't wield them, so they were labeled dark and evil. But I had controlled them, been able to work them at only twelve. Sure, it hadn't been that difficult a charm, but I was only starting. My hunger for more also made me a bit uneasy. I couldn't be this lax at school, with everyone breathing down my neck. But at the same time I had a childish impulse to jump up and down in front of Dumbledore, Damien and Dippet and shout, "Look at me! Look what I can do that you can't!" Sure, the thought made my twelve year old self smile, but I certainly had to curtail that impulse.   
  
Finally, the day arrived that I was to start for the Hogwarts Express and my second year of school. Someone pounded on my door early, even though I was already awake. I smiled, and said, "Come in, Tigger." At my answer, Little Tom bounded into the room and pounced upon my bed, holding the Milne book we'd been reading at times within his small, pudgy hands. He pouted when he saw my small bags packed. Since I had stopped putting him to sleep and started playing with him, we had become closer. Certainly, he was annoying and often sticky, and not nearly as interesting a companion as Snicks, but it wasn't that bad a job. He had really liked it when I had taught him how to pick locks. I decided I was by far a more impressive fatherly figure and instructor than Dumbledore had tried to be to me. Had however _slightly_ tried to be to me, I corrected myself. And Dash. The image of his cold body confusingly mixed with Dumbledore's assured words to me, making my head ache.  
  
I turned around with a modicum of patience and said, "Stop moping. You're going to start school tomorrow, as well. You'll be back with your friends, running around and breaking things, not cooped up in a bar."   
  
Little Tom still pouted, whining, "They don't know neat stuff like you."   
  
"That's true," I replied. "But now you do. And you can show your friends what I taught you, and then they'll be really impressed." Little Tom looked visibly cheered up at this idea, so I smiled slightly and added, "Just don't open any teachers' drawers when they're around. And don't tell your dad it was me that taught you, or I'll send the boogieman after you. All right?"   
  
Little Tom nodded, his eyes widening in fear and wonder. "You know the boogieman?"   
  
I nodded solemnly. "Yes. His real name is Albus. All the magicians know him. If you hear his name, kick him and run away fast, ok?" Little Tom gave me his solemn vow of promise, and then helped me lug my stuff downstairs. I said farewell to Took, who shook my hand in thanks. Smiling broadly, he gave me a wrapped sandwich to take with me on the train. I left, smiling as I thought about Took and his son. Not the brightest folk, but decent and gullible. I'd give my left arm to be there the next time Dumbledore came in.   
  
The Hogwarts Express was right on time. I boarded the train, sitting in a compartment near the front since I was one of the first people on. Simon, Randy, Samantha and another girl sat with me. The girl was small and plump, with long brown hair and cunning brown eyes. It was easy to tell that she was Samantha's sister. Samantha introduced me, saying, "Tom, this is my sister, Marina. She's a first year." I nodded at the girl, who said in a confident voice as she tossed her hair back, "Call me Mary." I was impressed that she was so calm, when around her all the other first years were all trembling. She was exactly like Samantha in personality as well, from what I could tell. Definitely a Slytherin.   
  
Everyone was busy talking about their summers. Simon had stayed at home most of the time, being privately tutored to get ahead. I saw the competitive glare in his eyes as he looked at me while saying this. Randy had traveled the whole time to about twelve different countries. Samantha and Mary recounted their holidays in Italy, where their father was from. Everyone was speaking easily, not mentioning the war at all. I found this interesting, because everyone else I had run into outside of the Slytherins had talked about the war in feared tones. Either the Slytherins were braver, or stupider, than everyone else, or they didn't have a reason to be afraid. I didn't voice this out loud. I just shrugged when asked about my summer, saying I had worked most of it. Randy snorted, asking, "What kind of work can a second year do?"   
  
"You'd be surprised," I said neutrally. I started reading then. Simon quickly grabbed one of his books as well. Randy and Samantha laughed at us and challenged each other to a game of Exploding Snap. Mary slunk off in search of more interesting life forms, she said. Talk of the summer had ended. Eventually the lunch cart was pushed around. Everyone else purchased candies off of it, but I declined, saying I wasn't hungry. Randy tried to share with me, but I insisted he take all of it. I was embarrassed, but the sandwich Took had given me really was more than enough. I even gave the rest of it to Randy, who ate it without complain. He even said, "This is really good! You must have a great house elf," before Samantha jabbed him in the ribs for his idiocy. He looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened and he said, "Sorry, Riddle. I forgot that you were--erm--between house elves at the moment."   
  
I shrugged it off. I was too nervous of approaching the castle to pay much attention to my embarrassment or his teasing. In my gut twisting nervously was the thought that somehow someone knew what I had done over the summer, and that a group of officials would be present to greet me when I stepped off of the train. A creative imagination wasn't always that useful.   
  
But no one was there when I stepped off of the train a few hours later except Wynn. He guided the first years to the boats, while the rest of us got to go into the carriages. It was raining again; I wondered if it always rained on the first day, as sort of a horrid initiation for the first years. Either way, it was nice not to have to go through it again. Soon I was sitting in the Great Hall, which was as beautiful as I had remembered it. The magicked ceiling was a stormy gray, a nice contrast to the warm golden given off by the candles. The teachers were all sitting on the dais, except Dumbledore, who would be with the first years. My stomach twisted at the thought. Dippet and Thistle caught my eye, and smiled. I smiled and waved weakly back, before noticing and old man sitting next to Thistle. He looked like the picture of dullness. His clothes were drab, his expression blank, and he his conversation obviously unstimulating if Thistle's yawns were anything to go by.   
  
Soon, the doors flew open and in walked Dumbledore with the first years trailing him. He looked exactly as I remembered, and I swallowed back my nerves as his keen stare caught mine. I didn't back away from it, but held on till he had passed. I let out my breath, not knowing I had been holding it, and tried to focus on the sorting.   
  
Once again, Slytherin got the fewest people. Gryffindor only got one more than us, but they cheered as if it had been by a thousand. Well, most of them probably couldn't count anyway. Hufflepuff got the most new students, a surprise to all. I counted the new heads in our house out of boredom. Seven girls, four boys. Mary was one of them, to no surprise. The hat had taken a while with her, though, which was unusual for a Slytherin. Well, except me. But I wasn't a normal Slytherin, was I?   
  
Of the boys, I noticed one that wore robes only a little less shabby than mine. He was a sullen looking child, with black hair and eyes, small and silent. His eyes looked cold and cunning, and he already bore a sneer to the first-year boys surrounding him. I looked hard at him, trying to remember his name. Something Snape. He must have felt me looking at him, for he turned his sneer to me. I nodded to him, giving him the slight smile of greeting that I had received the year before. He eyed me carefully, assessing my appearance. Then he raised an eyebrow, gave me a slight nod, and turned away. It was clear that he was a Slytherin, as well. He didn't need the hugging and reassurance of fitting in that the other tables were surrounding their first-years with. Thank Merlin for that. I remembered what Grover had said to Dash that first night. Upper-crust stones, he had called us. A slight pang in my heart resulted as I thought, better that than an emotional Gryffin-ape. A true Slytherin didn't need any emotional support, could defend for themselves. I tightened my chest, trying to stop the expanding of my heart. I would be a true Slytherin if it killed me.

* * *

PAGE \# "'Page: '#'  
'"  [W. A. L. 1]Grindelwald was really more like an event (catastrophe) than a monstrosity (beast.) 


	15. Chapter 15: Breaking Down and Out

Chapter 15: Breaking Down and Out 

I found Snicks on my bed waiting for me the first night back at Hogwarts. He was excitedly hissing about some aunt nicknamed Edna he had vacationed with. It was an amusing enough tale that I didn't question its credibility, simply glad to be back in his company again. He seemed wary of me at first, but when I didn't break down or run headfirst into any walls he relaxed and our friendly rapport returned. I didn't see Damien, since as a second year I was now rooming with the new first years. The only dormitory that had been renovated to solely hold individual grades was Gryffindor, a fact that all the other houses were sore about. I didn't really mind, since I was used to living with many people. At least here we had privacy curtains to draw around the beds. And the first years apparently weren't warned about me, because they treated me with the same deference as they did the other second years. Most of them were wary of approaching an upperclassman, but the one called Snape strode right up to me. He said that he was finished with his potions book and had found it too easy. He had seen my assortment of books and asked to borrow a higher level one. I was not too keen on lending things out, since I had so few possessions and had worked so hard to get them. And I didn't welcome the possibility of competition in any area. But I pasted a fake smile on my face and lent him a very advanced one, figuring he'd run scared from it in a second. Unfortunately, he did nothing of the sort, figuring out what I had done and rising to the challenge. He flipped the pages dauntlessly. I narrowed my eyes, figuring I'd have to keep a watch on him. He reminded me too much of myself. Soon after that I learned that his first name was Levitus. 

I again immersed myself in school, though I couldn't eliminate the paranoia that still slid beneath my skin over Mara. With every odd glance any authority figure gave me, especially Dumbledore's keen one, I felt unsettled. But, no punishment or rebuke came, though that didn't make me calmer. I had learned never to lower my defenses. For awhile I also kept my head lowered as I walked across the Slytherin commons to avoid seeing the corner where Dash and I had normally spoken. But time had its effects, as it does, and slowly I did begin to enjoy being back at Hogwarts. I managed this relief when I focused on the sole parts of Hogwarts I found worthwhile – the learning. Classes for the term were much more interesting than last term. I was now taking Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts with the third years. Transfiguration I was still taking as a private class. To fill that spot during the day, I was placed in Divination. Of course. Just the thing I needed, to _try_ to cause visions. In addition, I was taking Arithmancy, Potions, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures with my fellow second years. As for the elective classes being offered, I decided on two advanced Charms classes, partly because I loved Charms, and party because my other favorite area, Transfiguration, was solely taught by Dumbledore. One of the Charms classes was Defense and Dueling, and it worked with the Dueling club. Figuring I needed extra curricular activities that were actually beneficial, unlike Quidditch, I joined the Dueling club. It was at least somewhat intellectually stimulating. The other Charms class was titled Instrumental Charms. It dealt with using the body, like a singing voice, to cast charms instead of a wand. It was supposedly not regarded very highly in academic areas, but it sounded exciting. 

A bright side was that I didn't have too many classes with the Gryffindors this term. Only Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and one Charms class. Herbology really was a waste of time for the most part. It was interesting when it related to medicine or poison, but for the most part we simply learned how to trim leaves as they  tried to disembowel us. The History of Magic Professor, Binns, was every bit as boring in class this year as he had been the last. Oh, he certainly was knowledgeable, but his monotonous tone left even myself and the Ravenclaws struggling to remain conscious. After one particularly long week where I had run out of the supply of pepper-up potion that I had filched from the hospital, I had actually been forced to pinch myself throughout the period to stay awake. It had worked, but I was left limping the rest of the day. 

There were other, more creative measures taken in Binns' class, especially around midterms when he rattled off information at an incredibly fast but interminably dull rate. Some of the Ravenclaws charmed their eyelids to be pasted open. It was uncomfortable and quite agonizing, but rather effectual in forcing the student to remain awake. Others drank caffeinated liquids to the point of bursting, leaving them jumpy but alert for the period. I only tried that once, but while I was awake I was considerably and painfully distracted. And the race to the bathroom afterwards had been a frantic nightmare. Neither method lasted long, but I was determined enough to try anything to stay at the head of my class. For my ceaseless efforts I was lauded with praise from my professors and requests for tutoring from all houses. My ego refused to let me refuse any praise or request. I was left with frayed nerves but little time to worry with these activities, and I could feel my power growing. It also provided a satisfactory excuse for why I was always at the library. I read everything they had for my classes, sneaking in time for my own personal studies away from the guarded looks of Dumbledore and his minions. 

After the first day of classes I was trying to get signed into the last Advanced Charms class being offered, one that was called Self-Awareness Spelling. Professor Vallandora was looking at me with something akin to disbelief intermingled with amusement. Eyes twinkling, she laughed. "What are you trying to do, Mr. Riddle, take over my job by the new year?"

I shrugged humbly. "I'm really interested in Charms work, Professor. It seems to be the most widespread of all the disciplines. Charms can work on pretty much anything. If done properly."

Vallandora's expression grew fond and misty. "That is precisely why I got into this field, Tom, all those years ago. A powerful charm can influence the whole world, or one soul. It's a fascinating, though sometimes terrifying, area of study. Of course, it's not as intrinsic as Transfiguration, or as academic as Potions, but it's closely related to a great deal of defense, herbology, and creature work." 

"Unless you get into theory and experimental charms, then it's quite academic. And some charms are intrinsic." I saw Vallandora looking a bit cautious, so I added quickly, "So I've heard. I've read a great deal on these subjects. Besides, other than charms—"

"All that's left is another class with Dumbledore?" She said this teasingly, but I still tightened until she added, "He's a bit daft, isn't he? What's he teaching this time, Muggle Visionaries and Prophets?" she waved her hand, as if to dismiss Dumbledore as little more than an amusing quack. "Honestly, you'd think he'd just go to work for the Ministry or as a field scholar, with what he's trying to do here."

I lifted my head, curious at that odd statement, but didn't speak. Clearly, Vallandora wasn't going to elaborate. She merely signed my form and sent it flying to Dippet's office. Her last comment was said in a more serious tone. Frowning, she asked me, "Are you sure you can handle all of these, Tom? You are taking a large workload this semester."

I smiled confidently at her. "None of the classes look to challenging, Professor. But thanks for your concern." I spun around and left, not adding, _and if I'm busy enough I won't have time to be pestered by Dumbledore, Damien, or those visions. _

~*~

"Do you know what day today is, my Riddle-licious friend?" Randy had grabbed my arm in the hall a few weeks later. Swinging his around my shoulder, he steered me away from the library to a small bench carved into the wall under a large window. I had been buried under my thick texts and hadn't noticed him until he'd practically threw me down with his jovial weight. Even though I was an inch or two taller than him, he still outweighed me by a good ton. Rubbing my arm where he had bruised me, I scowled at him playfully. 

"I'll tutor you in Potions, Randy. But you'll have to learn the days of the week on your own." I made a show of pulling up my sleeve and examining my arm. "I think I need to see Drawt now."

Randy smacked my shoulder again. "Oh, come off it. You should be used to it by now. You with your bloody white corpse skin. Someone breathes on you and you bruise."

I couldn't deny this. So instead I asked, "Oh, very well, I'm guessing the answer you're looking for isn't Wednesday. So what is today?"

Randy was grinning as if Potions were no longer part of our curriculum. "The day before Quidditch tryouts!"

"And?" I knew I'd get a rise out of him with my dry inquiry. In truth though, I really didn't care.

He did indeed puff up indignantly. "What do you mean 'and'? It's only the biggest day of my life so far!"

I refrained from saying_, how sad_. Instead I stood up and replied, "Well, good luck."

Randy pulled me down again. In a voice less certain, he asked, "Do you think I have a shot?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. How should I know? I haven't been watching any of the practices. I don't even know who's trying out!" I didn't even know the names of the positions, to be honest.

Randy looked around me conspiratorially. He waited as two young girls scurried by, nodding congenially at them as they tossed is half-interested glances. Waving me in closer, he asked in a tense whisper. "I thought that, you might have--you know_--seen_ something." I pulled back in incredulity, as he hurriedly continued to hiss. "I know that you sometimes have those kinds of experiences. I thought that you might have--"

I burst in loudly. "Of _Grindelwald,_ Randy. I had visions of Grindelwald. Not your bloody Quidditch tryouts! And I don't control them—yet. But they aren't ever about--," I paused, about to say 'about insignificant things.' I decided to be tactful and finished, "About sporting activities." I hadn't managed to keep the annoyed frost from my voice, but Randy didn't seem to notice.

Still looking a bit panicked, he said sadly, "Oh, I thought you might have about this. It being such an important event and all." He glanced down, missing my disgusted eye roll. When he finally did look up at me, he wore a rueful grin. He appeared much closer to the cheeky Slytherin I had come to know. In a voice completely devoid of jealousy but brimming with patent flattery, he replied, "At least you're not trying out. Mack'd make you a Chaser for sure. Maybe a Seeker, if Damien wasn't already playing that." He suddenly looked worried and suspicious. "You aren't planning a surprise try-out, are you?" He looked like he'd try to murder me if I had said yes. It was indeed a stellar performance, had I cared. But I was trying to remember who Mack was. It suddenly came to me. Mack Fielding was a Slytherin seventh year, also a Chaser and now the Captain of the team. 

I didn't want to think about Damien or the new Captain. Or whom he had replaced. A clock rang out then, shouting the advancing hour in Troll, a glitch it seemed fond of and refused to let be fixed by any who approached the old time teller. Randy was still sitting beside me, waiting to see if his efforts had worked. Instead I groaned, "Please, with a million classes, work, tutoring and dueling, I barely have enough time to breath! I can promise you, I won't be playing, or be anywhere near the field." I stood and began to gather my mountain of work when Randy stopped me again. He wore the same guilty look, and pulled me back.

"Does that mean you aren't coming to the try-outs?" I shook my head in false apology. "I have to go to the library, then work with Wynn and Zwipp. Why?" 

Randy spoke so low I had to strain to hear. "I thought that maybe you could--help me." I sat back, my expression blank, and he pushed onward. "You're good at charms and that sort of thing. Maybe a sticking spell, to my broom? Please?"

He looked so hopeful it was pathetic. I sighed, and then shook my head. "It's too risky. If they found out, they could do a revealing spell and find out who cast it. I can't afford to get into trouble--"

At that Randy stood up, angry. His face reddened as his great flaw, his temper, shone through. "Oh no, you can't afford to get into trouble unless it's for your own good, right? I've never said anything about those books you've taken out of the restricted section, or the stuff from Zwipp and Madame Drawt's workrooms." At that he sneered at me. I tensed as he continued, "Didn't think I knew about that? Well, maybe if you gave others some credit, you would have put a stronger restricting spell on your drawer."

I considered my options, trying to figure out how to play the situation. Thank God – thank _Merlin _- the halls were empty, afternoon classes being over and all else gathered on the Quidditch pitch. I stood slowly, keeping my expression and voice calm. "You don't know what you're talking about. I'm taking additional classes, and that requires special equipment. So they administration kindly lent their stuff to me. However, I still do not appreciate—"

"Bullocks!" Randy shouted, turning a dangerous red. He was lost in his rage, not thinking clearly. "I don't trust one word that you say. I'll go to Dumbledore right now."

I placed a hand firmly on his chest, my pale hand stark against his black robes. In a cold voice I said, "don't be thick, Randy. How are you going to explain to Dumbledore that you found any of this out? He knows I'm not brainless, that I wouldn't bring anything out in public if, as you say, I stole it. You'll get in just as much trouble for snooping. And probably wouldn't be able to try-out for the team. Are my borrowed books and ingredients really worth that?"

Randy paused at that, heaving. He was torn between his fury and the sense in my argument. Finally, I felt his muscles loosen. I tentatively loosened my grip, eyeing him. He stared back, his normally laid-back charm replaced by a sickly snarling look. Every Slytherin seemed to have one in their repertoire for defense. His lip curled, he spat, "Maybe your right about that. Your pathetic little scam isn't worth my future. But you can't honestly think, with all of your damned _superior _knowledge, that I'll let you best me, you weak, insufferable, condescending, little…!" Words failed him then. 

I must say, even with all of my damned superior knowledge, I wasn't prepared for his roundhouse to my face that punctuated his unfinished insult. I never thought of Randy as the bullying, fighting type. He was certainly built for it, but he was always such a witty, calculating person, even with his temper. It seemed beneath him. However, at the moment it was he who was standing over me, leering at my black eye, and sneering, "There's more to winning than a smart mouth." I stared up. Half of me was impressed at his lengths he was willing to go to for his desires. The other part of me was thoroughly angry and unimpressed at his execution. 

He turned on his heel and began to stomp off, throwing nastily over his left shoulder, "And I'll just leave Dumbledore a note after try-outs. So you'd better scurry back like a good little loser and clean up your junk. Everyone was so impressed with you, what til they hear about this. Pathetic, just like your father." He hesitated on that word, but pushed on, "And if I ever see any of that stuff again--"

"Randy?"

What?"

"Imperio!" My wand was quicker than his fist this time. It was the least severe of the Unforgivable curses I had been learning. It was also the most vital to me now. Randy fell to his knees, his mouth hanging open. I approached him slowly, my vision dimming around the edges to where only he was in my sight. My heart was freezing over what he had said, blood pumping coldly throughout my veins. "I want you to tell me the truth, you blackmailing troll." Randy nodded, his eyes glazed under my control and a bit of his own fear. I saw blood trickling out of the side of his mouth. It was a common side effect of those who tried to avoid the controller of this spell. He was probably trying to chew off his tongue in tension and strain. No real Slytherin would go under without a fight or a reason. So he fought. I gave him minute, disinterested credit for that.

"What and how do you know about my father?"

Randy spoke monotonously, but the strain on his face was clear. Blood spewed as he chocked out, "Damien's father…he looked it up, because you shouldn't have been placed in Slytherin. I found a letter in your drawer…I couldn't read it, but I saw the name Salazar in it, so I told Damien and he told his father…there was something that was covered up, that only a few people know about. All Damien and I know is that someone named Riddle did a great damage to the magic community, and was never punished." He didn't need to add what I knew he and Damien thought. That I was just like that. 

I glared at Randy, burning with hate at him, myself, and my father. No, I didn't hate Randy, not really, even if I was furious at him now. He was just susceptible to the same rumors that had trailed me my whole life. He was jealous and weak, and wanted leverage over me, like a truly ambitious, cunning person would. But he wasn't a match for me, not with his temper. Still, he might be useful…and in some ways he was a lot like me.

Glaring at him, I ordered, "Hit yourself in both eyes." Randy complied, his meaty fists almost knocking himself out. Part of me wanted it to continue, but I felt my control weaken and my knees knocking together, near buckling from the strain. I released the spell, following it immediately with a gasped, "Obliviate!" Randy fell forward at that, choking and grasping his head with his hands. I had erased our entire conversation, and his memory of my drawer contents. Hopefully, of nothing else. I stood there, watching him slowly reorient. He looked up at me blearily through swollen sockets and shakily asked, "Riddle? What happened?"

"Gregor, that third year Gryffindor, tried to keep you from trying out for Quidditch. I tried to step in, but it didn't do either of us any good." 

I indicated my eye, and he winced and gasped, "I can't believe it…. you should have charmed or cursed him, Riddle, stick with your strengths."

I nodded, a cold laugh welling within me. "I'll try to remember that. Here," I helped him up, brushing him off. Then I offered, "I don't think I can charm your broom, like you asked, but I can fix your eyes so you can see during tryouts."

Randy looked confused. "I asked? I don't remember… I guess that damned Gryffindor hit me harder than I thought. Well… I guess that's okay… you did try to help me. I'll owe you one. Especially if you help these bruises so I don't have to see Drawt before tryouts." I smiled while grimacing internally. Placing my hand on his head to feel how bad the wounds were, whispering a slight charm to ease the pain. He shuddered under my cold grasp, but held fairly still and patient. When I finally released him, he leaned back, eyes blinking, and then grinned broadly. "Thanks, Riddle-y, that's much better. But put a cloak on or something, you're freezing!" With that, he left whistling, an extra bounce of determination in his step, heading for the Quidditch fields. I could only imagine what he would do to the first Gryffindor that said anything to him. Forgetting about my own tender eye, I fled into the library, a new mission at hand. 

~*~

The next evening, I was trudging wearily to the Slytherin common rooms. Today had been our first dueling match in class, and it took immense physical exertion to defend as someone constantly attacked. I had been working with a sixth year that was extremely talented, knowledgeable, and determined to keep the riff-raff youngster out of commission. That had been after a full day of classes and working, and I had spent the last night in the library. I had come up with nothing about what Randy had mentioned yesterday. Frustration matched my tiredness. The only one who might be able to help me was the Malfoys, which was unlikely to ever happen. It was an almost impossible task that I didn't have much time to devote to, if I didn't want to start passing out. 

_I just need the pepper-up potion I modified to be stronger and with less ear smoke,_ I thought as I blearily stumbled forward. Today was only the tip of the iceberg. Despite what I had said to Vallandora, the classes did require a great deal of work, as did all the extra tutoring, assisting, and dueling. The curse I had put on Randy had weighed me down, both the actual act and the slight pang of guilt and concern that now resided in me. I was drowning in my thoughts when Dumbledore pulled me out.

His voice was filled with concern and caution. "Mr. Riddle?" I stopped and turned slowly to face him. Concern actually took over when he saw me. "Good Merlin, Riddle! Are you feeling all right?"

I nodded, my speech thick. "I'm fine, Professor. I just need to get my ….um….books for…I have your class now, don't I? Right, for transfigurations…I'll go get that one…or two…how many do we have?"

Dumbledore took me by the shoulders, his face stern. "Mr. Riddle, you are completely exhausted. You cannot come to class tonight. You would be of no use, and worse, a danger to yourself." He started to lead me away, but I resisted.

Irritably I said, "I'm fine, sir. I just studied a little late last night. But I need to work on that plant configuration you taught me, I think I can get it tonight!"

Dumbledore crossed his arms in front of his long robes and said firmly, "You are working too hard, Tom. It is not healthy, and it will weaken your progress. I understand that you want to do well, but this is wrong, and frankly, ridiculous…"

"What is ridiculous is how you constantly try to hold me back!" I said too loudly, stomping my foot. "You're just upset that my methods are working, that I can take all of this work when you didn't think I could! Well I can, I'm fine! I'm the best and I can prove it, and if you won't teach me, then I'll just do it myself!" I was shouting myself hoarse at this point. All the tension and emotions that I had been strangling inside me were flowing out. The work, my father, the Malfoys, my feeling of disgust and humility at myself…I had to work this hard, I had to do everything I could, or else everything I was trying for would be obsolete if I failed and came in second. All I had to prove myself was myself, and now that was beginning to break as my body was wearing down. I hadn't even been able to knock that sixth year in dueling over. And I was just plain tired, and cranky, and since I hadn't eaten in a few days my stomach had shriveled into a painful knot. And here Dumbledore was telling me that, despite all of my effort, I was _still_ wrong!

And now he had the audacity to _smile_ at me! "I have not seen that temper of yours in awhile, Mr. Riddle. It is good to know that you are still a human child after all. Anyone, youngster or not, would be this crabby if they were almost asleep on their feet, though I must admit you did express yourself more eloquently than most. Though I do not support your outburst, I understand. And I think you should go to bed now, and we can talk tomorrow, when you are less…grumpy, shall we say? It is much easier to speak with someone when they are pleasant--"

"I am _not_ a little child! Don't treat me like that! I'm better than most of your precious Gryffindor seventh years, so don't talk down to me! I--"

"Good lord Albus, what _is_ that ruckus?" At that exact moment Dippet came hurrying around a corner. At seeing me standing there red-faced before Dumbledore, his eyes widened in complete shock. "Mr. Riddle?!" He turned to Dumbledore, his confusion apparent. "What -"

Dumbledore held up his hand, and calmly said. "It is quite all right, Armando." His look patronizingly amused, he continued, "Tom here is just overtly stressed. I think these classes are too much for someone of his age, or _any _age, as I said before…"

"No!" I cut in, and then quickly bit my lip. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the emotions fighting to get out. I turned to Dippet and said shakily, "I'm really very sorry sir. I don't know what came over me. Of course I should be punished."

Dippet waved his hand, pompously, "Don't think it, dear boy! Punish our finest student?" He ignored Dumbledore's glare, adding, "Everyone gets a little upset at times, nothing to worry about. I admire your work ethic, Mr. Riddle, but do try to keep a more moderate pace. I know how completely out of character such an outburst of temper is for such a mature, controlled young man as you. Right, Albus?"

Dumbledore was looking less amused. "I think he was more than a trifle upset, Armando. If you saw him…."

"Ah, yes," Dippet gave me a cursory once-over. "You look worn-out, Mr. Riddle. That's not the way we like our students. A good night's sleep should do it." He nodded at Dumbledore as if this were sufficient, then strolled off. I suspected that his act had just as much to do with the Grindelwald event of last term as my being such an ideal student. Everyone but Dumbledore had been thoroughly impressed at the way I had handled that horror, scoffing at his suggestion of therapy. It was much easier to think, and for the press to sell, that I was such a strong person that I had overcome that ordeal by myself unscathed. I had to believe that myself to go on, not planning on counting on anyone ever.

Dippet's steps were heard fading down the hall, along with a cheerful greeting he gave to Sir. Nickolas. Slowly all sound of him and the ghost faded, and it was just Dumbledore and I again. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to figure out the best way to rectify the damage my foolhardy outburst had done. Somehow, the Obliviate Spell I didn't think would work, and I definitely wouldn't risk it. So I resorted to good old-fashioned wheedling. "I really am sorry, sir."

Dumbledore didn't really look mad at me, though. His gaze was still following Dippet. In a bland voice he said, "Are you, Riddle?" He turned to me. "Why do you always feel that you need to work? I hear that more often than that you _want_ to learn things. I am well aware of the pleasure you get out of learning, but it is becoming an unhealthy obsession." His voice dropped, adding softness, but I wasn't too gone to notice the keen curiosity that lurked in hungry desire behind his eyes. "I do not care what Dippet says, there is something. What is going on, Tom? If it is the workload, then we can change that. And if it is anything else, well, we can work that out too, before…" he didn't finish that thought, just staring at me with eyes still bright though no fire was lit nearby.

I wasn't up to sparring with him. I was too afraid of another outburst, or what he would do if he really did know the truth about Mara, or Randy, or the orphanage. Afraid of what good old Dumbledore would do if he heard about the exultation that came with the fear when I did both acts of healing and punishing. How I trembled from pride just as much as fear, how I was torn between the two. How I didn't accept his theory of black and white for evil and good. The line was blurred for me into nonexistence at times. I couldn't trust him with his symbol of brave-hearted honor blazing out of him. And he seemed to know. Maybe some of the Gryffindors could blindside him with their ends justifying their chivalrous means, but he didn't trust me any more than I him. It was a common belief that no Slytherin could be chivalrous.

I merely stared back at him, my brain on defense but fuzzy. I heard myself saying slowly, "I'll slow down, sir. But there really isn't anything wrong that I need to talk about with you. Or anyone. I just really want to get my books to sleep." 

At that, a crack of a smile broke on Dumbledore's lips. "I beg your pardon?"

I stared uncomprehendingly as Dumbledore laughed softly. He placed a hand on my shoulder, ignoring my tensing shrink. "We shall double up on the lesson later this week, when you are feeling less sleepy. Fair enough, Mr. Riddle?" I nodded as his image faded in and out. Relief flooded me that he was not grilling me anymore. I vaguely remember him guiding me with his hand on me through the last corridor to the Slytherin rooms. I don't remember passing anyone, but I was annoyed that he must have been enjoying helping the poor little overworked Mudblood. Yes, he stopped me from pitching forward on my face a few times, but…well, I was too tired to think of an answer, but I was sure I could have managed without him. 

When we got there, he gave me one last look, and said, "Sleep well, Tom. Skip morning classes if you need to. I will see you tomorrow." With a final patronizing smile, he strode off. I glared at him, and then entered the rooms. They were empty; everyone must have been at the final day of Quidditch tryouts. I tried to make it to the dorms, but found it was easier to stumble to a desk in the corner of the common rooms. I sat down, holding my spinning head in my hands. That outburst had felt wonderful, and thankfully Dumbledore thought nothing more of it than that I was an impertinent child. I was still in my classes, and Dippet was still my biggest fan. But it was simply too risky. I would have to be more careful… somehow. I still hadn't found a spell that would let me stay awake or quell my emotions without any side affects. Well, maybe I could find one that didn't have _too_ many side affects. My mind wandered to what had happened to Mara, but I pushed it away uneasily. I was more skilled than she already. And I wasn't talking about fatal or permanently disfiguring effects, but having my eyes turn red for a few minutes or something wasn't reason enough to dismiss a spell that could potentially improve my performance. But that would have to wait.

Sighing, I opened one of my thick brown leather books. It was called _Perfecting Self-Transmutations_ by Artemis Gollywand. The words swam on the yellowed pages. _I really am too tired to do this_ I decided. But a stubborn pride kept me pinned down in the chair. _I'll just do it once, just to prove to myself that Dumbledore didn't know what the hell he was talking about again_, I reasoned. I reached for my wand, ignoring my trembling fingers protesting my movement. I raised my wand, looking at myself in the mirror. I focused on what I saw…a porcelain white face so thin my cheekbones protruded sharply. My eyes were a midnight blue, with dark purple bags with blue veins running beneath them. My short, wavy hair was in disarray, which I never used to let it become…its shocking blackness made my gray face even sicklier. My fingers, thin and long, shaking in coldness, nerves, and exhaustion flung up to reveal my bony wrist beneath my shabby, thin black robe. 

I ignored the protesting signs my body was obviously trying to visually knock into me. My voice almost steady, I began to chant…

Words swam from somewhere deep and far away. It was lighthearted, and loud. I couldn't make out all the others, but two were definitely Randy's and Simon's. I realized that I was lying face down at the desk, my head resting on my arms_. I must have fallen asleep_, I mused tiredly. I didn't feel any more rested; I felt the opposite, if possible. I also felt chilled beyond belief. My chain hung heavy around my neck, jabbing me. I wanted to know what time it was, but I couldn't lift my head yet.

I heard a few people approach me. Simon's voice said, "Aw, he's asleep. I don't know how he can sleep through this. But he really hasn't looked too well." His voice was the nicest it had sounded in awhile. I must really have looked pathetic to gain the sympathies of my Slytherin companions. I would have to be dead to get it from anyone in another house. Simon continued softly, "Leave him, Randy. You can tell him your good news later."

Randy's voice boomed then, as jovial and unsympathetic as he always was. "Ah, he needs some good news. He's been a maniac with work, worse than ever. This'll lighten him up." He began shaking me hard, yelling in my ear, "Riddle-y! My Riddle-licious boring bookworm of a classmate! Come on, you git, wake up and come join the land of the living!"

I groaned and shifted, and Simon said in an annoyed tone, "He doesn't even care about Quidditch, Randy! You just want to show off."

"And _you_ just want him to sleep through his studies so you can have a shot at getting a better mark than him," Randy retorted easily. He resumed shaking me. I tried to withstand it until all the rocking was making me ache and become dizzy. 

I slowly raised my heavy head, and in a dry cracking voice I said, "You're both right. Now leave, I'm not in the mood to listen to either of you." I turned my eyes toward them, and in a hazy fog I saw their faces blanche. I struggled to glare. "Come off it, that wasn't that rude. I really want to get under some warm covers and sleep, and you've certainly told me to shove off before."

But they kept just staring at me. I began to see fear in their eyes. As a larger crowd drew around, I heard muttered whispers of, "_look_ at him!" Simon asked in a voice trembling with fright, "Tom, what--what _happened_ to you?"


	16. Chapter 16: Having An Heirful

**Chapter 16: Having An Heir-ful **

My heart started thumping…everyone in the common rooms was now gathered around me. Nobody was making any intelligible noises anymore, just a few frightened squeaks and gasps. I pushed myself up and ran into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me, though no one seemed in a hurry to follow. I shakily raced to the mirror. What I saw made me grip the sink rim for support. 

Etched all over my face were strange markings burned black, which glowed deep and hot against the white background. They were similar to the oozing sores given to me by Grindelwald, but these were completely unrecognizable to me. Perhaps it was merely magic gone wrong. I reached up with trembling fingers, tracing the indenting crevices that the markings had left on my face. As I did so, I realized that the same markings lined my arms, and after a quick examination, saw that they covered every inch of myself. 

Pressing them tentatively, I waited for them to explode. They hissed when touched, but felt oddly cold. Fear gripped me; I had no idea what could have caused this…the spell I had been casting was supposed to do nothing more than make my image in the mirror turn green. Nothing in that spell could have caused this reaction… at least, nothing that I was aware of.

I stared at my reflection harder, trying to see myself beneath the burns. My eyes also looked strange… they were still a cloudy blue, but had a red dot where the pupil should have been. Leaning in so close that the sink rim pressed painfully into my stomach, I made out the shape of the red dot. It was the same strange symbol that appeared most frequently on me. I stared harder at it… it seemed to be rotating slowly. Feeling a tickling sensation along with the cold, I saw all of the symbols on my flesh start moving slowly, gleaming like bright onyx and throwing a cool shadow around. I kept looking, becoming mesmerized with their lazy cycle… I was no longer afraid…

Until a knock sounded at the door. I spun around in fear, my heart in my throat as I heard Simon's voice shakily call, "Tom, are you all right? We can get Zwipp, or Madame Drawt…Tom, answer us…" I heard a slight scuffle, and then to my horror the knob started to turn. I'd left my wand at the table, so all I could do was try to fling myself against the door. Unfortunately, I wasn't in time. Simon and some of the others crept into the room. I backed away, trying to cover myself, when I saw relief break out. 

"It's going down… Merlin, Riddle, we thought you'd set yourself on fire!" A fourth year was remarking. I didn't pay any more attention to their ramblings, choosing to hurry back to the mirror. Indeed, the markings were fading slowly. I tried to memorize all of the shapes as they dissipated. The last one to leave was the flaming one in my pupils. A gnawing worry filled me. I didn't think I was possessed…the markings wouldn't have faded if I were. But something had happened to me, inside of me… and not knowing the answer scared me more than anything. There was nothing more terrifying for me than not being in control of my own self. 

I vaguely heard voices still chattering behind me. Simon was inquiring if I wanted them go to with me to see Drawt. I shook my head, lying softly, "it was just a--a reaction to a Transfiguration spell. It's nothing, really." They seemed to accept that, and everyone slowly filed out of the bathroom with only a few hesitant glances in my direction. Once they were all gone, I checked myself over, making sure all of the markings were indeed gone. I stared at myself in the mirror for quite awhile afterwards. My face had resumed its normal sickly appearance. I leaned in close, examining my eyes. They were rimmed with red, but it was the normal kind. My pupils were black again, and my eyes were a murky liquid blue. 

As I reached up to wipe the residual tears, my hand caught on my chain. In my attempt to untangle it, the cross itself fell onto my palm. It was still heavy, bearing the figure of Christ on the cross. The Muggles' God of peace and love. Black blood now ran from his lashes and the wounds on his hands, feet, and gashed sides. My mind flooded, then drained as the serenity in the dying man's face turned to unyielding hatred. Blood red eyes and a cruelly twisted mouth suited him more than loving acceptance, and as the viscous fluid seeped down over me, every part it dampened turned to stone. 

~*~

I awoke sometime later in the hospital wing. Madame Drawt was fussing around me. When she saw me awake, she put on a face of playful irritation. "Mr. Riddle, are you going to make these little visits of yours an annual occasion?" 

"It would appear so," I said dryly, trying to inconspicuously find my chain. 

Drawt noticed my motion, though, and went quickly to a side table across the room. "Dear, are you looking for this?" She spun to me, dangling it from her fingertips. I broke out in a cold sweat as she approached… but she was examining it with no sign of fear. "It is rather pretty. Oh, excuse me, I mean, rather _handsome_. We took it off when we found you unconscious. We didn't want it constricting your neck." 

She then dropped it on my coverlets. I smiled weakly at her, forcing myself to look at it. Its worn edgings were once again silver, the figure normal. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. My mind was working quickly to find some plausible excuse. It had been a hallucination, a figment of my imagination. It had nothing to do with those markings…

"Tom?" Drawt's gentle voice drew my attention to her. She was smiling kindly. It was nice that she didn't have any pity or fear to direct at me. She was always saying how good a healer I would make, trying to influence me to become one. Now she was handing me a small glass filled with thick purple liquid. I made a face as I recognized it. It was a sleeping potion. She thought that I scowling because of its taste, and said in a patient tone, "Come now, it isn't that awful. You need to rest. Your body is too wound up, and it needs a break. This will calm you down."

I couldn't agree more. But the potion could trap me in my dreams, and if they were anything like my visions, or what happened tonight…

I hesitantly took it. Seeing no way out, I downed it, one hand still encircling the cross. Drawt patted me and said, "Good. Now lie back. You'll be asleep in a few minutes." Then she strode away, extinguishing the lights. That left me alone in the darkness, terrified and struggling in futility against the magic's work. 

~*~

I did dream, my subconscious weaving and unfolding paths before me. I was standing in a dark room, with wet dew dripping down the sides of the walls. It was some sort of prison. I shivered slightly in the musky room, breathing in the stale air. The walls seemed to reach for the heavens, disappearing into blackness so that it was impossible to see if there was an opening above. The ground was hard and cracked, and the smells of old sweat and dried blood floated into my nostrils. My face curled instinctively into repulsion, and my eyes darted around the room. This was too real to be a mere dream. I felt eyes watching me, but I couldn't locate the source. I reached for my wand, but it wasn't at my side. Panicked, I began to breathe heavily when I heard a dark chuckle.

The laughter was cold and dry, not at all like the maniacal rasping of Grindelwald. I spun towards the sound, and slowly saw a dark silhouette fading in from the far left corner of the room. My heart almost stopped beating, and part of me wanted to run screaming into the wall. But I couldn't move. I just stood, transfixed, studying as this figure slowly approached. As it did, I felt a frigid breeze sweep towards me from it, enveloping me and stinging my chest. There was hardly any light to illuminate what it was, so I squinted desperately. It blurred in and out of snapping focus, hideous once, then carved into a man's form next. It moved closer and closer to me, and my eyes widened.  In that strange moment, though the manner of it made no sense, recognition flooded me. 

A pale hand with colorless fingernails reached out, pointing at his black and soulless eyes. They were sly, cunning; as impenetrable as the cruel twist of his closed mouth. Dark brows hooded his shadowed eyes, and the long black hair hung in scraggles around his midnight robe, but in the very center I could see a small red sign.

The sign spun, drawing me in. It was the same symbol I had seen on me before--a red ring of flames, almost a complete circle except for a small breakage in the band. That crack burned blue, flaming as bright and high as its counterpart, seeming angered by the circle's disjointed state. The flames crackled and hissed as the markings appeared on the man. Incomplete circles and spirals, strange letterings, first red and blue and then burning black. I looked down at my own hands, only to find the arcane tattoos creeping in again. The symbols moved faster, blurring into one another. The spirals blended, forming unfamiliar words…_heres edis_…

My eyes wide, I looked back. The man was now smiling at me as one does at a baby's first steps. A large python encircled his legs. I watched in fascination as it wound itself around his slim frame. The man low voice seemed to slide from his throat-- "You've come a long way, Mr. Marvolo." He reached out and touched my forehead, and the symbols vanished. But then his hand recoiled, as if burned. 

"What is it?" I asked anxiously. He looked at me in disgust for a minute. 

"Bad blood," he hissed, as the snake also shuddered. "That will have to be rectified." He looked at the snake, which simpered at him. "Yes, Nagini, we can overcome the foolish girl's mistake. Ours is stronger." He saw me standing still, unmoved. He seemed to smile unpleasantly. "Good, there is nothing for you to fear. Do you recognize me?"

"Salazar Slytherin. You're the head of my House at Hogwarts." I replied. He snorted mockingly at me, so I added defensively, "And my mother wrote to you… or a follower of yours of the same name… but I think she might have prayed to you." 

"Ah yes, Salome. You don't know much about her, do you?" Salazar said flippantly, but I felt a rush of emotion spread through me. I almost felt tears come. I desperately wanted this to be true… that I could know my mother's name. It saddened and angered me how desperately I wanted to be able to grasp anything about her. That word, just her name, meant as much to me as any curse I'd learned to date. 

"You knew my mother?" I asked, hoping it wasn't too anxious-sounding. He could answer so many questions of mine, regarding her and myself…and my father. But Salazar answered dispassionately, "Not personally. But one can hardly forget the person that destroyed the future of magic." He saw my face slowly burn in anger, and laughed at me. "Not on purpose, of course. She would have been a great aid to our kind, if she hadn't made one dreadful mistake. No, she was a real Slytherin."

"My mother went to school here?" I asked. I found it somewhat hard to believe, but then, there weren't any yearbooks lying around to have checked. Salazar's eyes narrowed. "Dumbledore has done well, keeping you down. Making you feel inferior enough not to question what you might possibly be. But are you really that thick, boy?"

"I sincerely doubt it," I answered coldly. My reply was met with a hostile yet amused smile. 

"You began to think it through yourself, not long ago, before Grindelwald shook you up. Now revenge and pride are on your side, but they have narrowed your focus. Must be the bad blood in you."

I seethed at him. "I can't really retort, since nothing is known of your bloodlines. You might be from a bunch of squibs." He lifted an eyebrow and with one word sent me flying across the room. I landed painfully against the wall, and as I gasped for breath he commented, " Temper, temper. I had hoped that wouldn't be a problem, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was wrong about the whole thing." I sat up and spat back at him, "Then why don't you give me back my wand, if you think so little of me."

Salazar smiled, and suddenly my wand appeared in my hand. I raised it to him, only to find it pulling away from me. I was about to pocket it when it flew from my hand, and floated in midair halfway between both of us. I was confused, only managing to get out angrily, "I thought you were going to give it back to me!"

Salazar laughed, but there was tenseness to it. "I wasn't holding it. It has been there all along, I merely made it black, to hide it in the shadows. I have no more control over it than you do." At that, he raised his thick eyebrow, saying, "It seems torn between us."

"That's not possible!" I said loudly. "There is only one wand to each wizard! Mr. Ollivander said so--"

Salazar interrupted me. "But there was more than one that wanted you, wasn't there?" He grinned at my shocked expression. "Bertold told me all about it. He keeps a close watch on you…as much for himself as for me. We visionaries have a close connection, you see, one that can transcend death if one is clever enough. So how can you explain, little Marvolo, how you tricked that wand?"

I stood up and squared off with him. "Power. So you are as powerful as I. I never really doubted that. But this wand was strong enough to pick me. The only way that it could be drawn to you was if it saw the same thing in you as it did in me."

Salazar touched his long white finger to his nose. He seemed a much more relaxed version of the whimsical, cold personality that Grindelwald had tried to achieve. "Exactly. Now, don't get me wrong, it is not the wand for me. But it doesn't want you to use it against me. Its magical essence knows what I can bring you." He waved at me to come closer. I did hesitantly, and as my fear and anger subsided into curiosity, the wand flew back into my hand. Salazar looked thoughtfully at me, his mouth still twisted in chilling contortions. "So I was right…this time," he said softly. His eyes shone black. 

"Right about what?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "What are you?"

Salazar seemed anxious to answer that. "Not alive, if that is what you are asking. No, you called on me, finally. Brought me out in a manifestation on you. You looked in that mirror, saw the horror that was there, of what you might do to yourself, and yet you pushed on. For pride, for knowledge, and for ambition. Do not deny it. It's been coming for a long time…what you did to Randy, your thirst for answers…so you reached into yourself, as you are doing now, to find answers no one would ever risk so much for. And you did it consciously, whether you know that now or not. You created a vision, Mr. Marvolo. Now all you must do is complete it."

My head was beginning to pain me, as much from his cryptic Dumbledore-esque speech as from the smoke. "I really don't think you are making sense. So I 'envisioned'you, to help me in some way? I really doubt that. You haven't done anything yet besides give me a splitting headache." 

"Well, I can't expect too much from you yet. Merlin knows that you still have… things… to overcome." He began circling me, speaking slowly. "Tell me, Marvolo, do you wish to know the truth about your family? Your mother's disgrace is a large part of it. As is your father, the lecherous Muggle." He saw my flinch at that, and rounded on me sharply. "Do you hold love for your Muggle part, Marvolo? Do you love the man that destroyed you and your mother without a second glance?"

I lifted my eyes to him and replied in honest simplicity, "I have never felt love for anything, I think. I've never known it. I don't know what it is." As an afterthought, I added, "I almost wish I did. I think my mother did for me."

"Oh, I doubt it." Salazar said airily. My heart broke at this, but he didn't seem to have done it out of spite. It was said as all of his words were…as plain and unmoved as time. He resumed strolling the parameters, hands clasped loosely behind his back. "It is possible, I suppose. She was always a bit of a stubborn loon. Talented, though. Quite intelligent as well. Like you." He stopped at that, and turned to me. His face was wearing a smile that seemed genuine, and unfitting on him. "But she wasn't quite enough. That was evident." He came up to me again, breathing cold air in my face. "Not like us."

I stepped back, replying as loftily as he, "You mean not like me." I smiled at him, a mirror of his image. "You don't exist anymore." 

I thoroughly expected to be thrown across the room again, but instead, Salazar had the oddest twinkle about him. He ran one hand over my face, the other over his. With his eyes closed, he said, "Oh, you are perfect for me. Just perfect." 

I jerked convulsively away from his grip and fiercely corrected him, "I'm nothing for you."

I backed up, my hand placed on my wand which had begun to quiver again. Merely watching me, Salazar replied, "Do you fear me, Marvolo?"

I thought about this. "No," I finally decided. "I respect you. At least, your abilities. And some of the things you believe. Like the importance of ambition, and the necessary lack of fear that it entails." My back touched wet dew; I had reached the wall. Salazar chuckled at this, still standing solid in the center of the dungeon. An inane question ran though my thoughts just then. Why had my mind picked a dungeon for this vision anyway?

Standing tall, Salazar continued to question me. "You say that you never knew love, Marvolo. I think it best to be able to know it, and then deny it. Many say that the only way to know hate, is to know love. You don't really hate anyone, do you?"

I took a long pause. Salazar was becoming less and less a real person to me, and more a concrete object voicing the many questions that had been ramming themselves around in my brain all of my life. "I know hatred. I've encountered it all of my life. I hate those who are weak, who can't stand up for themselves. Who are too scared to accept anything outside of what their morals or principles will allow their narrow minds to grasp. Those who didn't accept me, and made me feel less than human every minute I breathed, no matter how much I accomplished." Images of the Blunts, and Dumbledore, Malfoy and Damien floated upward. Then came the picture of my father. I paused, and then added, "And I would say my father, but…I don't know. A part of me does, and the other part needs to know more. I don't like anyone. However, I do think that, at least, Wizards are a more useful lot than Muggles." I eyed him at this, before steadily adding, "Like you thought." 

There was an imperceptible shift in the air as Salazar once again held his own presence before me. Triumph rang throughout him, rushing through me with its chilled air. Then his face was again impenetrable, his voice silkily low and dark. "You carry the flaw in your blood, Marvolo, but better blood might overcome it. Now let us see if you are up to the challenge as you claim. I'll leave you with this, and know that there is so much more…your mother was indeed Salome, and her father's name was Marvolo. Farewell, my _heres edis_." 

~*~

A voice was heard over me. My eyelids fluttered and blinked, as the hazy images of reality overcame me once again. Natural light was filling the room, and I was grateful for this. It hurt my tender eyes less then the harshly bright candles Drawt illuminated at night. I lay there passively, trying to quell the dreamlike aftermath.

Drawt and Dumbledore were standing over me. I groaned and tried to fake being asleep again, but Drawt drew the cover off of my face. In the same patient tone she used for all of her patients, even the faculty, she said, "Now now, Tom. You need to take this medicine, and then Albus would like a word with you." I glared over the covers to see her holding a liquid similar to the Pepper-Up potion. "What is it?" I asked warily.

Drawt sighed in exasperation. "It's an anti-nausea potion." She pointed at Dumbledore with her free hand. "He thought you might need it, for some reason. I told him you didn't have the flu, but-"

I smiled. Once again, Dumbledore was proving his cleverness. I pushed the vial away. I'd had no vision forced upon me by Grindelwald. Looking directly at him, I said, "No, it wasn't the flu he was worried about. He thought that I had another vision of some sort. Right, sir?" I didn't wait for him to answer. I remembered what Salazar had said, about him holding me back, and my anger built again. And of his little mind games he played. If I didn't feel hate for him, it was getting pretty damn close. "Well, don't worry, Professor. I didn't see a thing that would matter."

Drawt clasped the vial in her hand and gave a triumphant, "Ha!" to Dumbledore. On her way out, I could hear her grumbling, "He thinks he knows everything. This is my hospital. I've treated his hide more than once…" as she disappeared into the other room. When she was gone I turned back to face Dumbledore, feeling how impassive my face was. Dumbledore gave it right back to me.

Sitting down beside my bed, he asked me directly, "Did you try any spell last night, after I specifically told you not to?"

I responded promptly. "No, sir." I stared at him innocently, adding, "Why would you think such a thing?"

Dumbledore scrunched his eyes in skepticism. Not answering my question, he said instead, "Your housemates came to me this morning. Quite upset, in fact. Damien and Randy…they said that you had markings on your face, and your eyes looked red. They said they were concerned about you, because it looked like a spell gone awry." His eyes locked onto mine as my heart beat faster. "They implied that it was something…less than acceptable that seemed to have caused this."

His dancing around the point was a game that I had mastered and grown tired of years ago. I bluntly said, "You mean Dark Arts?" I actually got a surprised look from him at that. I waved away his concern with a flip of my hand, making my voice easily amused. "Those kids. They let their imaginations run away with them. They're a bit jealous, I am afraid, because they cannot keep up in class." I made my face sad. "They hate me." Melodramatic indeed, but it worked. 

Dumbledore's face crumpled for a minute. Placing a hand gently on my shoulder, he said softly, "Oh, Tom, I'm sure they don't hate you. Those allegations are quite serious, though." I looked up at him with childish, tearful, terrified eyes, and heard him say, "Though, unfounded…I am sure." He gave me an encouraging smile. "Where would you find the time to do any of that stuff anyway, right?"

"Oh, nowhere, sir," I answered earnestly. I gave a wavering smile. Dumbledore really did snap when presented with the image of a helpless child. Sure, my pride wouldn't allow the use of this trick often, but every now and then it seemed to work like a charm. I mean, his hand was brushing my hair out of my eyes! And…it was feeling my forehead for a fever. The other one had wrapped itself around my hand, warm and secure. He began gently stroking my stomach over the covers, as if with a paternal desire to ease my belly's tenseness, saying, "This is what my mother used to do when I was feeling bad. It helps, right?"

Mother. I wondered if he knew about my mother and just didn't tell me. If he was holding anything else from me, out of fear or dislike. The first thing he had approached me with was an accusation. One that he surely would have said was for my good. An alarm sounded in me, making me livid and sad at the same time. Was he just doing all of this fatherly stuff to get me to relax, so he could pounce on me? I certainly wouldn't put it past him. 

I brushed his hands away, making my voice as civil as possible. "I have to go to class now, sir." Dumbledore seemed surprised at the sudden shift in me, his eyes glazing over again in caution and worry. That only made me feel more disgusted. Did he think he was going to get the chance to play the big, wonderful Gryffindor helping the less fortunate?

I began to struggle to get up, but my look of cold determination must have stopped him from touching me again. He only asked me one more question quietly. Looking at the floor, I heard, "Mr. Riddle, did you really not have any vision?"

I turned to face him. "No, sir. Would I lie?" And with that, I left the room without a backwards glance. 

I was too late for any of my morning classes, and I didn't feel like walking in during the middle of Potions. I wasn't ready to face Damien, Randy, or the others just yet. I would have to think of some way to deal with that situation, but for now I had more important things to think about.

Acadima greeted me enthusiastically when she saw me return. She didn't ask where I had been, or why I wasn't in class. She just hurriedly gave me control of the library till she got back from a lunch break. There wasn't anyone in there, so I wandered around, leaving the front desk empty. No one came to the desk for help anyway. The library was, to most, a social gathering place ideal for quick gossip between classes. Only Simon, the Ravenclaws, and I really spent time here, and we had the whole thing practically memorized by heart. 

I started by thinking of the odd symbols that had formed the words _heres edis_. It had been drawn upon me in the past, by something Grindelwald seemed to be lording over me. Frowning, I tried to reason it out. It wasn't a spell, for it hadn't done anything. 

I wandered over to the language section of the library. It was quite large, filled with books on Troll, Elf, Pixie, and a dozen other languages. I bit my lip in concentration. If Salazar had said it, he might have thought that I knew it. He certainly would have used a language that humans use, or had used. He was a purist, not valuing other species that much. It would have been beneath him. And it wasn't Parseltongue, because I didn't understand it. 

I went to the human language section. One pile was devoted to something called 'Magic's Vocal Origins'. 

Intrigued, I picked it up and flipped it open. I wandered back to the front desk, managing not to bump into too many things on my way there. My attention was already absorbed by the book's contents.

"Magic, the magical, or _magus _a_, has many of its roots in the Latin language. During the Roman Empire, persons of magical origin were so badly persecuted that even mentioning the word itself was forbidden. Usage of the term only resumed when the newly founded states and countries began to practice magic again, using then the common language of Latin. As the language became more proper, less vernacular, it was still considered proper and traditional to use Latin for spell formation. Indeed, any artifact found in old tongues was translated into Latin, so that very few non-Latin spells existed. Now, as time has passed, the spells have been modified, but the main ones retain these common roots. In the time of the Founders, the upper class magicians often used Latin in a spoken form in order to communicate. In recent times, it is considered a dead language to Muggles and Wizards alike, but it is important to honor our heritage and give tribute where it is due."_

Importance of heritage, upper class wizards and witches… the phrases in this book reeked of Salazar. I was grinning now; I felt free, given a riddle whose solution I could perceive. It was better than Salazar handing to me the answer…or my vision of Salazar; whatever that thing had been. It was certainly better than that stupid Creature Codebox.

I went again to the shelf that held the language section. Scanning, I finally found a Latin to English dictionary. Holding my breath, I flipped toward the H section. Once finding it, I ran with trembling fingers down the page until I came to:

_Heres Edis_ c. -Heir

My hand dropped, and everything around me dimmed. I heard it whispered over and over again by that vision of Salazar. The words finally came to my lips. "Slytherin has a heir."


	17. Chapter 17: The Son Will Rise

Disclaimer-you know the drill. I own nothing related to HP, it's all created by jkr, and I am receiving no monetary or any other compensation for this work. The title is one of the lyrics to the Broadway musical The Lion King. 

Thanks to: AniMourner, Kat Riddle, Sarah Black, DarkAngel, Preciouss, luinthoron, and Sida for the reviews! You guys are the best reviewers a writer could ask for sniff…ok, I'll stop now. 

Note: Inspiration came, as did a snow day, so I wrote this. I will TRY to get the next chapter out soon, but I hold no promises. I will email all who want me to when it is up, bc it might be awhile. I really have no idea. Ok, in this chapter little Tommy finds out about the Chamber and gets his act in gear. Hopefully this will be a payoff to you all. A lot goes on here, even though it's not that long. 

Chapter 17: The Son Will Rise

I sat in my bed late that night, thinking about today's event. I couldn't keep the smile off of my face all day. I suppose it was uncharacteristic of me, because many people, both students and teachers, commented on it. I just gave them innocent shrugs. I didn't have any proof yet, but I knew my vision was true. Salazar Slytherin was my ancestor. I was his heir. His blood ran in my veins. I wasn't some hack who kept getting lucky. I was born to this kind of life. As my mother was.

In thinking about her, my smile lessened. Why had she gone off with my father? It didn't make sense, no matter how hard I tried to rationalize it. Everyone who knew of him here said how horrible he was. That thought made me feel a pang of shame, for I was part of him as well. A part I could overcome, if necessary I thought determinedly. But what if there was some other part of him…some reason that my mother had given up everything for. I couldn't think of her as being tricked…my mother had to be too smart for that. A clench of anger gripped me. Maybe my father had forced himself on her…or there was something redeemable about him that only she knew of. But if he was good, then why had he given me up?

These questions kept whirling around all through the night, with no answers being formed. I knew of only one course of action. In Dippet's office were files on the History of Hogwarts. If my mother did attend, I could check there. Tibald also had files, but if my mother were a Slytherin, he wouldn't have caught her. All right, maybe I was overreaching. I didn't have the luxury to put her on a pedestal. His was another place to check.  

The next day I offered to help Dippet organize his files. Bless that man for his complete inability to function. The new first year's files where still piled around his dusty desk. I picked them up and opened one of the small drawers. Inside were thousands of files, magicked to fit into such a small space. I nonchalantly flipped to the M section. Magnata, Mahon, Maraslov, Masarz…I repeated the search a few times, just to be sure, then sat back on my heels in dejection. No Marvolo. I wondered briefly if anyone would have any reason to take her file out of the drawer…to prevent me from seeing anything. The only one I could think of who might do that was Dumbledore. I frowned. Breaking into his room wouldn't be an easy task. 

But then_, I_ didn't have to be the one to do it. A slow smile spread across my face. Randy and Damien had this coming to them. 

I went to dinner that night. It was the first time I had shown up in the dining hall in a long time at a normal hour, and several of my classmates looked up in surprise as I sat down. I purposely sat next to Simon and Samantha, across from Randy. He eyed me nervously; we hadn't really talked since he and Damien had gone to Dumbledore when I was in the infirmary. I smiled at him evenly as I poured myself some water. Dinner was disgusting. I couldn't even make it out, with all that was slathered on it. Only the bread looked safe. 

"Evening, Thomas," Samantha said, dabbing at her mouth's corners. Simon, Randy and I stared at her in bewilderment.  

"Um, hi, Samantha. Or do you prefer Ms. DeRosa?" The corners of my mouth twitched. I had a feeling I knew where her newfound maturity came from. Or supposed maturity, I should say.

"No, no, Samantha is just fine." Sam looked haughtily at Randy, who had begun to laugh at her. Her face turning red, she sniffed, "Oh, do grow up, Randolph." Randy stopped laughing at that, and sputtered, "I told you never to call me that!"

Sam waved her hand airily. "But it is your proper name. It's much more elegant to address each other this way, is it not?" 

"Uh, Sammy, you can hardly be elegant with your hair braided in pigtails and your obvious drooling over at the Ravenclaw table, no matter what you call us. Just from a male's point of view," Randy told her. Samantha looked like she was about to cry, as Randy continued. "If the guy hasn't given you the time of day by now, I seriously doubt he's going to invite you to the dance. But don't worry. Just wait a year, and one of us will probably take you." He turned to Simon and me. "Right, guys?"

"Shut up, Randy!" she shouted and stormed out of the room. Randy looked at her back, shrugged, and then returned to his food. I stared at him in amazement. "Randy?"

He looked up. "Yes, _Thomas_?" 

The phrase that wanted to get out was, _you're a stupid git, you know that? _But I needed this conversation to go smoothly, so instead I bit back my insult and said, "What was that about?"

Randy, who had been defensive, relaxed when he thought I meant no harm. "Oh," he scoffed, "Little Sammy got herself a crush on the Ravenclaw prefect. He's a bloody fifth year! Like he would ask her to the dance coming up." 

"The dance for third years and above?" I asked, seeing my opportunity. 

Randy nodded. "Yes, that one." He pretended to impersonate Samantha. Flipping his hair, he squealed, "Oh, it is the event, how haven't you heard? Simply everyone will be there. Including…Matthew Linston." He rolled his eyes. "Girls are so boring."

"Sure," I said. Then, stirring my spoon in patterns, I said in a nervous voice, "So…um…will the professors be there?" Randy and Simon, being Slytherins, immediately noticed the change in my demeanor. I brought my shoulders down, increasing my secretive posture. 

I drew Randy right in. "Most of them, I would imagine. You're favorite will be there," he smirked. "Dumbley." He had a sore spot for Dumbledore since he still couldn't turn a thimble into a pin. Of course he blamed his ineptitude on the teacher. 

I stood, smiled, said, "Oh, good," and left. Of course, they followed me. 

Randy came right up to my side, puffing, "Why do you care if Dumbley is there?"

Simon rolled his eyes. "Try to make a brain next time instead of a pin, it'll be more useful to you." His eyes looked at me in curiosity. "It's because if Dumbledore is at the dance, it means he won't be someplace else. Right?"

"Excellent Watson." Simon and Randy looked perplexed. I didn't explain that to them. Truthfully, I didn't really want Simon in on the plan. I held nothing really against him at the moment, and they might be caught. As far as Randy and Damien were concerned, they could serve detention for the rest of their lives for all I cared. But Randy would probably need Simon. I made a mental note about Simon right then. Sure, he was still very competitive with me, but he was a very bright, logician. 

I headed for the dorms, them nipping at my heels. In a sighing voice, I explained, "It was just a stupid idea that I had." I went over to my bed, conscientiously slipping the papers that held the notes from my past further under my bed. I had left them sticking out a bit before going to dinner, as a reminder to Randy of them. "I was just thinking that he might have some files on my family there. There weren't any in Dippet's office, so I can't imagine why there would be some in Dumbledore's. It was a silly thought, really. What could possibly be so special about my past that would cause Dumbley to take and hide files?"

The look on Randy's face was priceless. His eyes widened, his jaw gaped a bit, and he looked like the next year of Transfigurations classes were cancelled. I knew that he and Damien had been lurking about me for quite some time, trying to figure things out. Damien's dad probably set the inquiry into motion, stating that a mudblood shouldn't have gotten into Slytherin. They wanted to have something over me, something that might even could get me kicked out, really badly. Damien for obvious reasons wanted this, and Randy because he foolishly had decided to pair up with Malfoy right now. I sure am nice to have let this little idea of something being in Dumbledore's office slip. Or incredibly stupid, as I am sure they will find it. I smiled at that. 

Simon responded as I had hoped he would. "You're right, it's ridiculous. Nothing in his office is worth breaking in. You know how much trouble that would get you into?" He crossed to his bed, pulling out a book on Quidditch. Throwing over his shoulder to me, "Why don't you just give in and talk to him about it? I know you and Dumbley have this hate thing going, but he would probably tell you anything. What would there be to hide?" Simon, at his practical best. 

"Right. I will talk to him the next time I see him." I saw the ticking in Randy's mind. The next time I saw Dumbledore would be the day after the dance, for class. And if I got to him first, then his and Damien's whole plan that I had graciously set up for them would possibly be shot. So that left them the need for immediate action, the night of the dance. 

Randy suddenly sprang into motion. "Excuse me, I have to go meet someone."

Simon looked at his back and frowned. "Who does Randy have to meet? I didn't think anyone liked him." 

He said it so seriously that it cracked me up a bit. He turned his frown on me, and I held my hands up. "Sorry. Another random thought came to me. Of some girl running screaming as Randy chases her, saying, I just have to meet you! Someone must like me!" 

Simon laughed at that and joined in. "I need companionship! Even Muggles!"

"Randy's personal ad in the Daily Prophet: Self-centered git with a lisp, poor social skills and the magic capacity of cracker. Seeking anything that won't run away from me." I offered, enjoying the game. 

Simon snorted. "A cracker?" 

I shrugged. "How many crackers do you know with magical ability?" 

Simon smiled, shaking his head. "You are a twisted, weird man, Tom." I smiled back slightly, another thought coming to me. I actually didn't mind Simon, and felt the feeling was mutual. I had Simon's respect. After all, he wouldn't compete with me so hard if he didn't respect me. He could be useful, as even more than just an acquaintance. My thoughts ran back to Salazar…there was something I needed to complete, even if it wasn't clear to me just yet. And Simon could help…under me. I just needed his loyalty. Or something to tie him to me, if that failed. And it shouldn't take that much, just a little something. 

"Simon," I said. He looked up from reading. I slid off my bed and approached him. Smiling slyly, I asked, "Do you want to see a really neat spell? One no one else here knows?"

Simon, a true Slytherin, weighed the options internally before letting his curiosity and ambition win out. "Sure." 

I flipped out my wand, rolling it in my fingers. "It's a curse…oh, don't get all concerned. Curses aren't necessarily part of the Dark Arts, it's mostly the intention behind it that make it so. Not scared, right? Fine. It's called a Disfigurement Curse." I had read about this one during the summer, when working on the disfigurement of Mara. I glanced around, finally coming across Damien's pet cat, Sadie. 

I went over and picked her up. Simon ran over to close the door, making sure no one was around. I looked at Sadie and felt tweak of guilt. Performing this on a human made me less worried. Probably because I liked animals more. But I couldn't risk doing this on a human, as much as I'd like to erase all of Damien's limbs. And I had the curse down cold in memory. It couldn't be that hard to perform. I had already done it several times on some of the slugs and worms near the forest. 

I stood in the next to his bed, holding Sadie in my arms. Simon sat back down and watched, wide-eyed. I pointed, swished, and flicked at her, chanting, " Ablongate Distortiontortalus!"

Immediately Sadie yelped in pain as her torso enlarged and her face shifted onto her tail. Her legs sprouted from her ears, and she lay there trembling. It was a gruesome sight, and Simon looked like he was going to be sick. I hadn't even expected results of this nature. Hurriedly I said the counter-curse. "Obliviate Distortionalus!" Nothing happened…

For a moment. Then, with a shriek, Sadie transformed back into the normal, sleek cat she always was. She laid there, spasming. I reached down and rubbed her, letting her bite my hand. "Good girl," I whispered. I performed a quick healing charm on her to stop the twitching, and even did the Obliviate! Spell just in case cats retained memories. I smiled, my sense of triumph washing out any doubts or guilt that had been coursing through me. Or worries that I would screw things up, not be good enough with my bad blood, and get caught. 

Simon stopped looking repulsed, and to his credit showed a look of slight amazement. "Remarkable," he said softly. His eyes caught mine. "She's okay now, right?"

I stood up and nodded. "Yes. She won't even remember going through it, and she's in no pain. I'll even bring her a dessert tonight." Sadie was now rubbing my ankles. "I know darling, I wish it were your master instead of you. Next time." I looked up and saw Simon glaring at me. I sighed. "I'm joking!" _I think. _A small grin came to me, picturing Damien, or maybe Dumbledore, on the ground like that. 

Simon glanced around the room, his eyes falling on a spider crawling up the wall. He looked at me, and I saw the hunger in his eyes outweigh the worry. "I want to try it!" With my instruction, he caused the spider to have all of its legs grow out of its mouth, almost suffocating it. Afterwards, we put the same healing and forgetting charms on it. Though _I highly_ doubted that spiders would remember, it made Simon feel better. 

We sat on his bed for a minute, as shadows from the night filled the room. Sadie jumped up next to us, purring. And as Simon reached out to pet her, I added, "She's as good as knew. Won't ever know we did an illegal spell on her." And I didn't add that he was now as accountable as I for something that could get us thrown out and possibly in jail. I looked at him innocently, saying, "What? You had to know after seeing what happened to Sadie that it wasn't exactly a favorable spell. You wanted to do it. Right? It's not like I would turn you in." And as his expression shifted from horror, to resign, to consent, I knew that I had him.

The evening of the dance I strolled into the Common Rooms as Samantha stood in the middle, her sister and another girl putting the finishing touches on her outfit. She looked like an enlarged tomato with all the layers of red she was in, but I didn't say anything. She didn't even seem to notice me as I walked by, lost in the inane chatter of her friends. "Oh, I knew Matthew would invite me. He is so much more mature than the boys who are _here_…" At that, she and her friends glanced up at me and giggled. 

I felt a sensation similar to bile…not wait; it was bile, build up. Randy had been right about girls' stupidity. I knew Matthew, and if Sammy wasn't planning on letting him peel off her tomato outfit, there wouldn't be a second date. But hey, maybe his was the _mature_ way to act. 

I went into the boys' dorms, desiring nothing but a long shower. I had been working in the potions lab all afternoon, and several first years that I had been helping had spilled a whole mixture of Newt Body Fluid on me. I cursed them internally as I scrubbed. By the time I got out, the dorm was full. Since most of the castle would be taken up with the upperclassmen at the dance, the rest of us were mainly staying in our rooms. I grinned when I saw that both Randy and Damien weren't anywhere around. Rumor had it that Damien had cancelled his date with Cathleen, for unspecified reasons. Hell, I wouldn't have blamed him if he had had no reason and just dumped her. But I had a hunch where he really was. 

I took my time getting dressed before sauntering out of the Slytherin rooms. The dance had been underway for about a half hour now, a fitting time. I knew that Tibald the caretaker would be in his offices right now, he always was. I knocked politely, and upon entering his face broke out in a creased, grudging grin. I am one of the few students he can stand, probably because he can associate with being poor and an outcast. Plus I never treated him like dirt to his face, like most of the others did. I never understood the reasoning behind doing that and pulling pranks on him. There was nothing worse than having a sharp eye always looking over you seething to get you in trouble. That was all being rude to Tibald ever got anyone. I can't count how many detentions he dolled out each day. I had never had a detention once, though I was often out past curfew in the restricted section of the library. 

I smiled at him and said in a reluctant tone," I feel sort of bad telling you this."

Tibald's eyes immediately gleamed. "What is it, Mr. Riddle? Is someone acting improperly."

I studied my shoes. "I don't want to get them into trouble…but I don't think its fair to Professor Dumbledore…"

Tibald loved Dumbley. He immediately jumped upright, asking ferociously, "Who is it? What are the little urchins up to!" I hesitated, and he promised in a fast tone, "I promise you, Tom, no one will know where the information came from. I won't tell a soul. Nobody will blame you."

I looked at him and said very sincerely, "I don't want to name names. But I think I heard something in going on in Dumbledore's office…" That was all it took. With a pat on my head, which made me grimace, he was off to the dance. I double backed and hid myself near Dumbledore's office. I could hear Randy's and Damien's voices inside. They sounded close to being done. I frowned, willing Dumbledore to hurry up. 

I held my breath, impatiently tapping my foot, sweating a bit in anticipation. There wasn't much time left, from the sound of it…and he just _had_ to show up. My timing had been perfect…unless I had underestimated Randy and Damien.

Just then Dumbley and Tibald came rushing around. Angrily, Dumbley ordered the door to swing open. Craning my neck, I saw the beautiful sight of Malfoy and Randy getting caught red handed. Smirking, I decided that in itself would have been enough if I didn't see a folder drop discreetly from Damien's pale fingers. I twisted around, almost giving away my hiding position. Scrawled across it in large, black script was MARVOLO. It fell right near me, seen as he had been standing right by the door, ready to leave. Magnificent. 

Dumbledore entered, pushing the boys back. In his fury he was blind sighted to anything else, as was Tibald. Randy and Malfoy were too scared to think. I took a deep breath, reached over, and nabbed the folder. Danger factor practically nonexistent. I lagged for a minute, listening. 

"What did you take?" Dumbledore was asking in a serious tone. Both Malfoy and Randy denied taking anything.

Tibald ranted, a mad gleam in his eyes. "Liars! Don't listen to them! Wait and clean up and see if anything is missing, the little nabbers!"

Malfoy glared at him, sniffing in condescension. "Search us. You won't find anything, Caretaker." 

His attitude toward Tibald seemed to make Dumbledore even more infuriated than their actual breaking in. He stayed silent, obviously trying to bring himself under control. Tibald was still rolling. "They might have gone and stashed stuff someplace else, and come back! I don't trust them! Not good, like their housemate, Mr. Riddle…"

"Aw, thanks Tibald." I whispered as I silently crept back to the library. I stayed there, having no trouble finding a deserted place to sit. In a dark corner, not bothering to conjure a light, I sat. Breathlessly, I traced my finger over the glossy emblem of my name. My wizard name. Marvolo. My real name. Carefully, as if unwrapping a precious gift, which in fact this was for me, I opened it. What I came across brought a chocking to me. There was a picture of a woman…a tall woman with beautiful blue eyes. Her hair was brown, but wavy like mine. And she was moving, so lifelike…She was wearing a proud smile, a bright silver snake emblazed on her green robe. She was in Slytherin, of course.

Finally I tore myself away. _She might not have loved you,_ I reminded myself. She was a great witch, so I should respect that. But love, or any emotion of that intensity, wouldn't be helpful. It was like what Salazar had said, emotions lead one to narrowed paths and views. Love shouldn't matter. That wasn't what I had been looking for in these files, I was looking for something much less infantile. I told myself this, as my heart still clomped in my throat, sending warm shivers through me. I resisted it. _I am looking for something bigger than love_, I sternly told myself. 

_But reading her file might be important,_ I reasoned to myself. Holding my breath, I began. Salome Marvolo was born in 1902, in a small wizarding village town in France. She went to Hogwarts in 1913, and was sorted into Slytherin. I read it closer than I had any text I had ever laid eyes on before. She received good marks, earned ten owls, and was part of the dueling club. I couldn't help but smile when I read that she never had a detention. The files apparently continued after her schooling years. Curiously, I read on. After graduating Hogwarts, she worked in the Experimental Charms division at the Ministry for a few years, before suddenly leaving the magic community. My fists clenched. I had a fairly good idea of what caused this. In 1927 she was spotted again, pregnant. She had fallen in, some said, with a small cult of Salazar worshippers that dabbled in the Dark Arts. For that reason, and for the fact that she refused to name the father of her child, she was treated with disdain as an outcast. Even when she broke off ties with the cult, she was not well received by many. Only her fellow Salazar followers accepted her. I noted that the cult was made up of pureblooded wizarding families. Only they remained loyal, out of the thousands of wizarding families that surrounded her. She finally disappeared again, presumably to find the father. She was never heard from again, and supposedly both she and the baby died in childbirth. 

Anger boiled in me. Whether she loved me or not, she was still my kin, and those pathetic mudblood wizards had snubbed her. Of all people, one would think that wizards who were most likely ostracized in their lives by having muggle relations would be sympathetic to her cause. But no, they only saw her as a dark witch, odd and to be avoided. I shuddered. And here those mudbloods treated me the same way, avoiding me because of my visions or that I was in Slytherin. So did the few mudblood sympathizers, they were as hypocritical and prejudiced as the actual mudbloods. No wonder Salazar couldn't stand them, or trust them enough to want them at his school. 

I flipped to the next page, which was not a formal document. It was scribblings in Dumbledore's handwriting. At the top it showed a family tree, mostly blank, but it was of Salazar Slytherin's line. He drew a line from Salome to Salazar. I wasn't really surprised that he knew about that. If there was a myth out there, trust Dumbledore to have investigated it. The man did not base himself in reality often. So he obviously knew about the myth of Salazar's heir. 

A bit further down, he concluded_, Salome, for all of her gifted abilities, is not the true heir that Salazar spoke of. She lacks some of the necessary qualifications that I have read about_. What qualifications? I wondered. Unfortunately, he didn't go into them_. But there is little doubt in my mind that she is the descendent of Salazar himself. Unfortunately, since she is no longer living, further testing is impossible._

_Right, that is why it's so sad that my mom died. Because you cant test her_ I thought bitterly. But his next words caught my attention immediately. 

The heir of Slytherin was said to hold the capability to unleash his greatest achievement. No one is completely sure what that entails, but we are fairly sure that it relates directly to here at his founding school. I believe that it might have something to do with Salazar and his obsession with keeping the magic community clean of mixed blooded wizards. The school, his pride and joy, seems a likely place that he would start. The hidden weapon has now sunk into legend here at Hogwarts, under the name The Chamber of Secrets. 

_ He claimed that, in a vision, he saw the threat of mixed bloods and those who supported them would be the downfall of him and society. I do still believe, though many now doubt, that Salazar was a true visionary. I think that someone of this nature will perform a great change on our society, unless stopped by his heir. Nobody still believes this, of course, other than myself. Many do not even believe in the idea of an heir, and since Salome and her child are dead. I attempted to locate others of her family, but there are many who bear the same surname as she, and none panned out. _

I had lost all hope until a student came. Thomas Marvolo Riddle. His gifts and intellect seem boundless. He is frighteningly above his age, in behavior and demeanor, intellectually and emotionally. When he exhibits emotion, that is. I find myself looking at him, wondering what humanity is lurking there behind his controlled façade. He has had no moral guidance, but I question whether any would work on him. I have little doubt that he will play into our history prominently, but for what ends I am not sure. Could he be the heir…or is he the other one Salazar spoke of, the one to defeat the heir? I have yet to come to a reasonable conclusion, or even a proper way to precede other than with the strictest caution. It is safest that way for all, until more can be known. 

I sat back, rabid butterflies raging in my stomach. A curl upwards from my lips opened my mouth, where I said to myself, "Well, looks like I am one step ahead of you this time, Dumbly." I leaned in again, re-reading the top of the page_. So there was something more important_, a hollow voice sang in me. This Chamber of Secrets I was supposed to open. The wonder at what the Chamber really held was mirrored at the triumphant thought that only I could open it. My eyes narrowed in superiority, and gleaming happiness at the thought of shoving it to all, especially the mudbloods and Muggles, what a real Slytherin was capable of. _If I couldn't have been the one to think of it, at least I can carry out my family's legacy_, I decided. 


	18. Chapter 18: Nameless Here Forevermore

A/N- Ok, so technically this is Tuesday. It's still here! Well, it's been awhile. I've missed Tom. I hope you have as well. Things are going to speed up a bit…hope you like it. Oh, and there is a hint somewhere in here as to what animal Tom transfigures into. See if you can guess it 8-)

Disclaimer-same as before.  I own nothing. I get nothing. 

Chapter 18: Nameless Here Forevermore

At last summer had arrived. I was all packed and ready to leave, sitting on my bed reading a muggle newspaper. Dumbledore had brought in the copies to compare the present war situation between the muggle and magic communities in his Muggles class. Simon had taken the class and given them to me when he was through. He now took all the Muggle studies classes, mainly because I never took a single one and there was no real competition for him. It was also a great way to keep updated on Dumbledore. 

I was puzzling over where exactly the places mentioned in the paper were in comparison to the orphanage when Simon interrupted me. "Hey Tom. You sure you don't want to come with my family to Romania this summer? We have the room, my sister isn't coming with us." His offer was genuine. We got along fairly well, and by being in each others presence we could keep a close watch on what the other was learning. 

I shook my head ruefully. "Can't. I have to go back to the orphanage. Really back." I winced at that, recalling the conversation I had had with Dumbledore, Dippet, and the Asst. Minister of Magic Kerin Blumfeld the day before.

Dumbledore had summoned me to Dippet's office. I had a good idea of what it was about, since Snicks had heard him call the Ministry of Magic to confirm an appointment for the same time. I had become relaxed, thinking that the war situation had deterred too much attention of the Ministry for them to notice my illegal use of magic last summer. Apparently, I was not about to be let off the hook. 

I dressed in my work robes, complete with Slytherin badge shining, a contrite look on my face. For added effect, I carried the autobiography recently published by the Minister of Magic. Knocking hesitantly, I waited a beat after being welcomed, as if too collect my bearings.

I stood still by the door, keeping my gaze off Dumbledore. Dippet stood in greeting me. He nervously motioned to Blumfeld. "Come in, Tom. No need to be nervous. We are all, ah, friends here." Turning, he guided me to Blumfeld. "This is Mr. Blumfeld, Tom. He is the Assistant Minister of Magic."

I nodded solemnly at him, politely offering my hand. "I know all about you, sir. Very pleased to meet you." 

Blumfeld was not an easy sell. He took my hand, but said rather grimly, "I know a great deal about you too, Tom. I wish we could meet under better circumstances." He backed away to look me over before asking, "Do you have any idea why I would be called in to see you on the Ministry's behalf?"

I looked down, answering in a small voice, "To expel me, sir." When this response got no reply, I looked back up and said, "It's alright, sir. I knew this was a possibility. But I couldn't refuse to help that woman, sir. That isn't what I have been taught here." Blumfeld and Dippet were melting, until Dumbledore spoke.

"Why didn't you call the Ministry for help, Tom? Surely there are more qualified magicians who could have helped her. The Ministry can't allow just anyone use that kind of magic, right?" He was throwing my own arguments back in my face. I almost smiled. I hadn't had a real battle with Dumbledore in a long time.

I looked at Dippet pleadingly. "She wouldn't go to the Ministry for help, sir. I-understood what it was like, to be an outcast. How could I not help her?"

Blumfeld sighed. "No one is doubting your altruism, Tom. But Dumbledore's point is clear. The Ministry cannot accept this behavior unpunished." He paused, looked at Dippet's pleading face, and then sighed again. "Still, your heart was in the right place…"

Dumbledore, who had been quiet for a moment, seemed to realize the conversation was shifting away from his focus. "No one is doubting your altruism Tom, like Mr. Blumfeld said, but why didn't you come tell us immediately afterward?"

Looking him squarely in the eye, I replied, "How could I, sir? She might have gotten in trouble. I would rather you punish me a thousand times than be the reason she got in trouble. She has gone through enough, and she was nicer to me than most." At that, I knew Blumfeld was on my side, especially when Dumbledore added in frustration, "And bought you new clothes."

"Albus!" Dippet cut in angrily, and I hid a smile. Since becoming Salazar's heir, it was much easier to play the victim when I myself no longer believed it. 

Dumbledore took a deep breath, regaining his control. "I am sorry, sirs. And you, Tom. But this is not the first time that Tom has disobeyed a direct rule. While his excuses always seem legitimate, it doesn't discount the fact that he is not above the law." 

"Funny, that standpoint doesn't seem to always hold true when a Gryffindor is involved, does it?" I couldn't help but add. Dippet rolled over my comment, oblivious to it.

"Really Albus, when did you become such a hard-liner? That was never your way with the children. Although I must admit, Mr. Riddle is a bit different than most." He smiled at me, and I responded with the same. Dippet continued. "As a matter of fact, he rather reminds me of you, Albus. Maybe that's what's got you so strung up. Oh, I know, your breaking the school rules was entirely a different situation, eh?" Dippet's eyes were twinkling, and he and Blumfeld had a good chuckle at the younger teacher's expense. 

The mood sufficiently lightened, I approached Blumfeld and asked, and "Does this mean that I am not expelled?" My voice showed the hopefulness I felt. Blumfeld put a hand on my shoulder and jovially said back, "Oh, I think not. I'd hate to do something to make you mad at me, since you're headed to become the next Minister of Magic from what Dippet says." However, being the consummate politician, he had to please everyone, or at least try to. "Still, I don't think you should be rewarded, though your intentions were good. Your request to spend the summer on campus is denied. You are to return to the Orphanage, the real one this time, and will be watched closely. So, no more saving lives for the moment, alright?" He winked at Dippet, and the two shared a good laugh. Clasping each other on the shoulder, they left the room with Dumbledore and myself in it.

Dumbledore looked less than satisfied. I wondered if he really wanted me expelled. However, he merely pointed at the book I was holding now loosely under my right arm. "What are you studying now, Tom?" 

I felt a little foolish, since the book idea was meant to be used under dire circumstances on Blumfeld and Dippet and not Dumbledore. However, I knew I had to show him. "It's a copy of the Minister's autobiography. Rather interesting, really. I thought I might as Blumfeld for an autograph from the Minister."

I couldn't blame the look of amusement on Dumbledore's face. "You're good Tom, I'll give you that." His face softened, and he added. "I only want what's best for you, you know that."

Smile frozen, I said, "Of course, sir. That's why you are sending me to another war-torn country that despises me. For my own good. I submit to your better judgment." On that, I spun on my heel and left the room. 

Simon shook me out of the memory. "It's almost time for the train. We better get going." I nodded and stood. Snicks slid onto my shoulder, planning on coming back with me.

The orphanage was much the way I had left it. I couldn't believe that I would be allowed inside, but I was. The Blunts, as it turned out, were away for the summer. It was no coincidence that they were avoiding me, but I could care less. Sean was eighteen by now, and no longer at the BoomRoom. Without Trevor there, I was left mostly alone. Well, avoided like the plague might be a better term, but it was just as well. 

I didn't do much magic. Part of the reason was that I didn't want to press my luck with the Ministry. Also, since I was left to myself, I didn't need it as a defense. Also, with the current war situation, and anyone seen as outside of Hitler's "norm" being persecuted, I was especially careful even though it was fairly safe at the orphanage. It was much harder being without information about the goings-on in the magic community. 

I was complaining as much to Snicks when all the other children were outside playing. Snicks, sick of me, rolled onto his stomach on the windowsill and spat at me. "If I were you, I'd be happy."

"About what? The overflow of rats?" I gibed. 

"Haha, how droll. No, you are back here with the run of the place, and you haven't once tried to break into the Blunts' office." He looked disappointed in me.

I shrugged. Why would I do that? I've seen everything there."

Snicks sighed in long-suffering. "You haven't been here in two yearsss. Aren't you curiousss?" Reproached, I had to agree. Plus, there was nothing better to do. 

I jumped off the floor and snuck downstairs. The orphanage had been left in the hands of a Ms. Evans. She seemed a nice enough sort, of a similar appearance as Mrs. Blunt only less uptight.  Still, she kept her distance from me. I guess that she had been warned. However, she always went outside to monitor the children, so I had free reign. Inside the Blunts' office, it was so much the same it was depressing. Unlike the rooms at Hogwarts, everything here was so bland and cold. Even the picture of the family on the desk was dusty.

Snicks and I searched high and low, and the only interesting thing we found was that there was no record of me anywhere to replace the one I had stolen. That didn't really surprise me, given the animosity between the Blunts and myself. They could hardly have imagined my coming back here. I still don't know how Dumbledore managed that one. 

After twenty minutes I was finished and about to tell Snicks to give up the hunt when I heard his excited hiss. I spun, looking at every corner of the room to no avail. Confused, I called out, "Snicks? Did you get stuck again?"

His reply was hollow and seemed to come through the wall. "Oh, you are ssso amusing, Tom. The way you insssult me, I almossst don't think I ssshould ssshow thisss to you." His hiss was as arrogant as it had ever been.

"Show me what? Where the hell are you?" I felt foolish talking to air.

Finally, I saw Snicks slither out of a small crack in the wall. "Here." He was carrying a pile of papers in his small mouth. Dumping them at my feet, he announced, "There wasss a box hidden behind that wall. You'd be amazed at what one can find between the linesss." 

I was too intrigued to be annoyed at his attempt at intellectual verbiage. Kneeling down, I brought the papers to me, careful to avoid his spit. What I found kept me pinned there for the next hour. 

"Snicks!" I whispered excitedly. "Did you read this? It's a name license, or whatever…for Trevor! Apparently, his last name wasn't originally Blunt…I wonder why? I can't quite make out what Trevor's last name used to be…the paper's been scratched on."

I turned to the next page. "It continues on here…huh, did you know that Mr. Blunt's first name is Thomas? I never knew that…Mrs. Blunt always called him Darling." Words failed when I saw the next page. With shaky hands, I voiceless mouthed what I read. "It's a marriage license…between Mr. And Mrs. Blunt…and it's dated October of 1927…that's three months after Trevor was born." A cruel smile drew up my lips. Trevor the bastard child…it had a nice ring. 

I turned to Snicks with a triumphant grin. "Looks like this little scavenger hunt wasn't a total waste. I found out Trevor's just as much a literal bastard as he is a figurative one." 

Snicks didn't share my amusement. Huffing, he hissed, "That doesn't really help. I thought we'd find sssomething really ussseful. Sssomething a centaur told me." He shook his head dejectedly. 

Shrugging, I picked up a smaller, bonded group of papers. "There is some stuff left…" I opened the booklet, scanning its contents. My eyes widened as I saw what was inside. It was a passport, with the picture torn apart and most of the information scratched out. All that remained was a single location called Little Hangelton…and the last name of Riddle.  

The rest of the summer I spent racking my brain. I couldn't do a repair spell here, it was too risky. Dumbledore probably had covert owls or something watching my every move. So I just stared at the passport incessantly. It had to belong to my father…or some relative. I knew that Mr. Blunt had some dealings with my father…to raise me against the demon ways when I was dropped off. And it was obviously of some importance, to be placed by his son's license and his marriage certificate. 

The owl to return to school couldn't have come sooner. The tutoring I had done the past year had provided me with enough fair for transportation to the platform. Dippet had said that hand-me-down editions of the schoolbooks would be waiting for me at Hogwarts, so I didn't even have to go to Diagon Alley. However, I was anxious to hear some wizarding news, so Snicks and I paid a visit. 

It was just as loud and confusing as I had left it. I still didn't like the crowds and noise, and I knew to steer clear of the really interesting places in Knockturn Alley. 

Snicks slid over to the Magical Menagerie to see some of his friends. Not wanting to hear sob tales of snakes I could not help, I agreed to meet up with him later. I found a vacated paper outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. It was full of praise for Dumbledore. Apparently, over the summer he had helped in the capture of twelve spies of Grindelwald's. His smiling face adorned the front page, with his arm around a young, smiling, stern eyed witch who had helped him. The caption said her name was M. McGonagall. 

Dumbledore looked far too happy for my tastes. Luckily, it was soon time to return to the platform. I stood on the side waiting with my light, worn suitcase, watching the people around me. All the tears and goodbyes seemed so futile to a jaded third year like me. I stood indifferently till someone hit my shoulder.

I turned slowly to find Bill Weasely smiling sheepishly at me. "Sorry, Tom." A little girl stood next to him. Her hair was a much darker red, and her eyes were a warm brown. She clung to Bill's hand, staring at me cautiously. I looked from the mute child to Bill, who explained, "This is my little sister, Annie. She's a first year." Annie nodded solemnly, still not speaking.

I smiled at them. "Another Weasely, huh? Maybe this one will have some class and be a Slytherin." At that, Annie's eyes widened in fright and she ran away. I stared at Bill questioningly. He looked embarrassed as he said, "She's buying into all that stuff about the Slytherin's being evil…our older brother has teased her about it all summer. Sorry." He sounded more apologetic that Annie had displayed her dislike of Slytherins than that her beliefs were unfounded.

Either way, I shrugged it off. "Well, what can you do? I guess she doesn't want to come to our nightly sacrifices of virgins, then." Bill looked stunned, so I added dryly, "I'm kidding." Feeling that I had terrified the Weaselys enough for one day, I went on the train. Eventually I was joined by Simon, Samantha, that Snape kid, Sammy's sister, and Randy. Randy still looked frigidly at me, but our conversation was civil enough. Eventually Mack and Damien joined us, and the talk naturally spun to Quidditch. Bored, I let my mind wander. If only I could have a schoolbook to read…anything that might help me find a spell to recover the passport. 

Dinner was as stimulating as always. The only interesting thing was the sorting of an incredibly large first year named Hagrid. Luckily, he was sorted into Gryffindor; if I thought that I had had it bad with the taunting in Slytherin, this kid would have been decimated. He looked incredibly nervous and unsure, and moved just as awkwardly. I guess I was staring hard, because Simon snapped his fingers in front of my face. 

"What are you staring at, Riddle?"

I grinned and pointed. "Future tutees. I'll make a bundle this year." Everyone followed my point to the Gryff table and snorted in agreement. 

Slytherin actually had the second most students this year, with ten boys and twelve girls. Annie, thankfully, was not one of them. After dinner, I was racing up to my room when I ran into Dumbledore. I was surprised to find him with the new kid, Hagrid. He must have sensed my curiousity, because he barked, "Is there something we can help you with, Tom?" He had taken to never calling me by my last name.

I shook my head quickly, smiling at them. "No, sir. I was just going to the Slytherin common rooms." Hagrid shuddered at that, and my eyes momentarily narrowed on him in distaste.

Dumbledore placed a protective hand on Hagrid' shoulder. "Ah, but have you already forgotten the rules? I don't believe running is permitted in the halls. You know better than that, Mr. Riddle. I thought you would use the summer to think of things like this." 

It took a great deal of strength to grit my teeth and smile. "Of course, sir. I apologize, to both of you." I held out my hand to Hagrid, who took it tentatively although his was twice mine's size. "Welcome to Hogwarts. Ask if you need anything…" I kept his gaze until he smiled back slightly, then I broke away. Dumbledore wasn't worth my time right now. I had more important things to work on.

"It doesn't work!" I yelled silently inside my head. Flopping back on my bed, I glared at the passport. It just sat there, mocking me silently. It was now a few weeks into the school year, and I hadn't made any headway in reassembling the passport. I had tried just about everything, even checking to see if it was spell-protected, to no avail.

Snicks, sensing my frustration, was comforting for once. Sliding coolly around my neck, his tongue whipped my chin as he hissed, "You are trying too hard. You need a break."

I groaned, freely talking to him since I was alone in the dorms. "That is the one thing I'll never need. What I need is to figure this out!" I punctuated that last word with a fist slamming onto the book.

Snicks winced, then asked, "Why isss thisss haunting you? Whoever it isss, the passst cannot be changed." 

I held my aching head in my hands, trying to explain it to him. "You don't understand. Whoever this is, is me. Made me live like I did…made people treat me like this…" My jaw hardened. "I bear his name, and I never received anything from him. I have to know him…to know why he owns me. Why he made Blunt keep my name…why my mother took it for me." My fingers softly traced the words I had been scrawling on a parchment besides the passport. Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

Snicks slid down my chest and curled up on the passport, blocking it from my glazed eyes. "Thisss isssn't who you are. You make yourssself. Take your passst, and mold your own future." He sounded so sincere that I couldn't mock him for being sappy. He jerked his head over to the parchment, trying to alleviate the tense mist in the air. "Maybe you could just change your name, " he joked. "Make a new one."

I smiled at that. "Rearrange the letters, right? To make it better? Like Sammy writes on the note board in the common room during finals…stressed is just desserts backwards." 

Snicks nodded. "Exactly. At leassst your name isssn't Bob…then it would be harder to arrange."

The game lessened the headache in my temples. I stared at the letters. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Pausing a moment, a thought came to me and I scribbled out the TOMR, and wrote MORT. "That should be part of it, since this is the death of my being bound to Riddle." 

Snicks looked a little hesitant, as if I were taking the game too far. "Ok…thatsss thereaputic, I sssupose." He was ready to move on, but once an idea grabs hold of me it becomes a possessive obsession. My hand wrote in time with my thoughts, manifesting my inner thoughts seamlessly. 

MORT

MAVOLO RIDDLE

I was going to be a great wizard some day, wasn't I? And I was from a line that was worshipped like a god…LORD should be a good place to start.

LORD MORT

MAVOIDLE

I wasn't going to be a lord of death, though. Maybe the death of something…like the hypocritical way of thinking that people like Dumbledore adhered to. I had learned some French from studying spells…de meant of

LORD DE MORT

MAVOIL

Death of what? Flightless fancy, quick judgements, groundless ridicule…I would rise above all of that. All of that torture that had been inflicted on my family, my mother and Salazar, I would lord over and be the death of. I seemed to remember that vol meant flight in French. A quick check in the dictionary proved my memory correct. I smiled at the fate of it all. Only three letters left.

LORD VOLDEMORT

MAI

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT


	19. Chapter 19: Karma Police

**Chapter 19: Karma Police**

The feeling of success was indescribable. Love a summer day? I'd wager any wouldn't give a damn if it were in the bitterest of winter hailstorms when they conquered riding a bike for the first time. Friends were wonderful, yes? Do try and remember who was next to you when you were acing that test, winning that spelling bee, or saying your first word. Hard, right? But I'd stake anything that you know the exact details of what subject that test was in, what the winning spelling was, or what word you first mumbled.

So even now, Dumbledore's words slid over my head as I focused on the impending success of my transfiguration into an animagus. My hands were sweating profusely. This was one of the few times that I tried a spell in front of a professor before first perfecting it by myself. I don't know exactly why I waited till now, so he could be present for the first time. Perhaps because, despite everything, I might not have been able to reach this point without him. Transfigurations class was the one situation where the roles were clearly defined and not challenged between us. I knew he had worked just as hard for this as I had. He seemed to think this spell was especially important to my learning, and was almost as eager as I to see the results. Whatever other reasons he had for caring I didn't bother to ponder. I respected his ability in this field, and he had not held me back. It was only fair.

But I still wasn't going to listen to him talk me through it. Closing my eyes I inhaled deeply, drawing my breath from every part of my body inward and up to my chest. There it settled, and I wrapped it around my thudding heart. Focusing on its rhythm, I cleared my mind except for what sprang to it from my heart. It represented what I held most dear in myself, connecting it to what in nature shared those qualities. I felt a basic essence rising inward and out, meeting so it was as if no body existed to confine me and the outside force. In an instant it all connected, and my shape morphed without my even feeling it happen. All I felt was the close connection of energy. It was a great moment of peace, where I felt that, if it could only last a little longer, I would understand everything in the world. But alas, it only lasted a second, and the only brief glimpse of knowledge allowed was to come in the form that I had transfigured into.

My eyes opened, blinking. All I saw were the funny red shoes Dumbledore was wearing today. They matched springtime, he claimed. I opened my mouth to speak, and realized that I had no lips. Attempting to feel this new sensation with my hand, I drew up my arm only to get feathers in my face. Finally tuning in to what Dumbledore was saying, I looked at him to see excitement on his face. He held a mirror down to me, and I tremblingly approached.

A bird.

"A raven," Dumbledore elaborated. I could feel his eyes twinkling. The awe I was feeling was present in his voice as he whispered. "I know what all the animal symbols mean. A pastime of mine, really." He spoke no further, prompting me to inquire, "What does the raven mean?" I still could not look away, marveling at the glossy black sheen of my feathers, the glittering granite eyes staring back.

I only listened as Dumbledore said, "The raven symbolizes magic and mystery, oddly enough. The barest part of magic...creation and initiation, change and control. The ability to heal, protect, and help, some say." I took note of that appendage he added to the definition; as if to not be liable should I not end up being a good source of healing, protection or help. Perhaps sensing his insult, Dumbledore quickly added, "It's hard to say. Shapeshifting is integral to its symbol. The balance between what is given, and what one makes. Ability and choice, circumstance and decision." He paused a moment, as if unsure whether to continue. Finally he added, "I have never seen a raven before."

I was basking in the light of success by that time, but I perked up to his last statement. "Really? No one else but me?"

I turned to look at him for this response. His expression was strange. His eyes were fond, but his voice sorrowful. It was becoming more sorrowful by the day. "No one but you, Tom. It's all yours."

I flicked back to the mirror at that, watching the watchful eyes stare back in me. "It's all mine."

The feeling of success lasted about a day. At two the next afternoon, in Divination class, I was sitting feeling my temples throb, a profound sense of failure filling me over my last tutoring session that had just ended. Whatever thoughts I might have had about Dumbledore not out to sabotage me ended right then. By assigning me to tutor both Hagrid and Annie Weasley, I was convinced he was out to drive me insane.

Things had begun pleasantly enough. I met with them in the library, as usual. Simon came with me to tutor one of the Slytherin second years. Sniffing at the Gryffs who sniffed right back, Simon and his tutee selected a table far away from us.

I turned to my pupils. Annie seemed to have gotten over her fear of Slytherins, for she now sat, arms crossed and leaning as far back away from me as possible. Her brown eyes narrowed frigidly on me. As if I cared.

Sitting across from them, I acknowledged Hagrid's cautious smile with a wincing one. While Hagrid was wary of the Slytherins, I often wished he would exhibit it through the same frosty silence as Annie. Unfortunately, he still spoke. "Hey Tom, how did the transfigmortations go?"

I looked at him in surprise, managing to decipher his mangled words. "Who told you about the transfiguration?"

Hagrid looked nervous, as if he just realized that he shouldn't have known about it. "Um, Professor Dumbledore talked about it...said it was amazing."

I was unable to hold back a smile of delight. "Really? He said amazing?"

Even Annie nodded ruefully. "When we asked why you were tutoring us, he said it was because you were the best student in it. Not that we were supposed to tell you that, though," she finished, shooting Hagrid a glare under which he melted.

I shrugged, saying good naturedly, "News gets around fast. And I can always use the ego stroke. Anyway, lets begin, shall we? What do you want to start with?"

Annie drew her charms book out. I really didn't know why she needed tutoring. Other than a bit of trouble memorizing, she seemed capable enough. Hagrid, though, was another story. He was a mixture of boundless enthusiasm and utter absurdity it seemed. He tried hard but horribly mixed up almost everything he set his mind to. Even in Care for Magical Creatures, his best subject by far, he got into trouble because he heeded no warnings from the professor. I could easily see that blinded eagerness coming to smack him in the face later.

Annie flipped open her book, explaining, "We have a test in Charms this week. It's going to be partly essay and partly actual spellwork." Her face scrunched up in worry. "I'm nervous about remembering all the words. There are so many charms! I won't be able to remember them all. I just won't." Her last words were almost a wail.

I gave a cursory look at her book. The amount of charms that needed to be memorized were indeed lengthy. I understood the frustration Annie felt. It must be a tremendous amount of pressure, coming from such a long line of Hogwarts alumnus as the Weasley family did. It was hard enough accepting she would never be the best of the lot, but possibly being the worst had to be inconceivable. She was desperate, that much I could tell. I took pity on her. "Does Bill have his old tests?"

Annie peaked at me over her fists, a wary look on her face. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Not all the charms will be on your test. Ten, maybe fifteen. You could study Bill's old exam, get an idea of what charms might be on there."

Hagrid looked horrified. "That's-that's cheating, isn't it?" He could hardly say the word.

I fought not to roll my eyes. "Not really. Sure, some of the charms may be the same, but if she makes a new test, they won't all be identical to the old test. But at least, if you memorize those, you'll be sure to get some right. And, if she doesn't make a new test, then whose fault is that really? I mean, it's the same charms in the book as on the old test that you would be studying. And, if they so happen to be the same, well, you can't help it if she is too busy to make new tests. Old tests are common study material."

Hagrid's eyes showed confusion between the sense I was making and the strict moral absolute he had obviously grown up with. Annie, however, took keen notice of my rationale. "It's not under the anti-cheating spell, is it?"

"Nope. Like I said, its not cheating."

Hagrid finally piped up. "Have you ever done it?"

I shook my head. "Never needed to." Realizing how arrogant that sounded, I added, "But others have. I wouldn't bring it up to any professor, though. It might get the teacher who gives the same tests year after year in trouble, and we wouldn't want that."

The thought of implicating a teacher in a bad way made Hagrid shudder. "Merlin, no!"

Annie smiled knowingly at me. "No, indeed. My lips are sealed." She left soon after that, proclaiming a headache. I saw her head toward the Gryffindor Common Rooms, leaving me alone with Hagrid. Since he was still against the old test method, we plowed through his books the old fashioned way. I recited things of importance in the book to him, and he faithfully took notes. However, a sheen had come over his open eyes when he looked at me. Before he had always held my gaze with a sense of uncertainty as to what I was about. Now a decisive, if faint, guard was up although he tried to act normal. But putting on facades was not Hagrid's forte. I felt a guard going up as well. There was nothing Hagrid was capable of holding over me, since I had just made a suggestion. But the breach was there, nonetheless, and self-preservation always came first.

But I still felt like I had failed in convincing Hagrid. I really didn't see what was wrong with using the old tests. The ones on it were the most important, or they wouldn't have been the ones picked. There was plenty of time to learn the other ones, and besides, most people never used all of the charms they learned at school. But Hagrid, stubborn, eager, Dumbledore loving Hagrid, found my beliefs at fault. Wrong. Incorrect. Not the best course of action. He would rather fail than take my advice. HE, HAGRID, would rather do his own thing than listen to ME, TOM. Like there was some reasoning he could see that I couldn't. Something he understood that I didn't. He, a joke, and me, Lord Voldemort.

Simon leaned over and whispered to me across the crystal ball between us. "What's wrong, Tom? You look ready to kill someone. Need any worms?" Simon knew about my animagus, and of course was smug about it.

I shook my head. "Nothing, I just hate Divination." The professor, Lydia Peepling, was an attractive if vain Veela who never saw anything other than males attraction to her. Her silvery hair hung low around her tightly corseted waist, and her robes always showed slender white ankles. She might very well have been a good seer, but she chose not to focus on anything outside of her. None of the males in the class minded, but the girls sat there fuming. If any of her visions were real, I would have loved to learn how she handled them, for fear still racked me that I would be overcome by one. I hadn't had any in awhile, but whether that was my doing, Grindelwald's disinterest, or a protection spell from Dumbledore and the other teachers I was not sure of.

Simon shook his head sadly. "You are the only guy I know that doesn't like Professor Peepling." He glanced at me suspiciously. "What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"Where should I begin?" I retorted. "I didn't say I didn't like Professor Peepling, I said I didn't like Divination. There is a difference."

At that Simon figuratively leapt onto me. "So you do like her? Is that a real confession of emotion from Tom Riddle? Shall I signal the parade? Hug a Muggle? What?"

I hoped my face wasn't looking as hot as it felt. With as much dignity as I could maintain I replied, "I can appreciate how she looks without really liking her. I don't know her very well, and that suits me fine. I find that, once I get to know someone, they become must less interesting. I mean, she's only a Divination professor. That has to say something about her."

"Yeah, that Merlin answered my prayers and brought her here for me." Simon glibly replied as we cleaned up our area. He seemed disappointed that I had weaseled my way out of a clear answer.

We both hurried down the hall to the Slytherin Common Rooms. Today we planned on going into Hogsmeade. Since there was still so much chaos going on, a chaperon was required, and if we missed them we weren't allowed to leave. We quickly changed out of our workrobes into regular clothing and raced down the stairs to where Zwipp was waiting with most of the third year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. Since it needed to be chaperoned, the amount of students allowed to go at a particular time was greatly restricted. It was almost laughable to see the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs standing next to each other, however. The Hufflies grouped together, never meeting a Slyth's eye. The Slytherins, however, stood in small cliques or alone, confident and impassive.

Simon and I walked right up to Zwipp. We both did research with him in our spare time and found him enjoyable company. More enjoyable, by far, than most of our fellow students. He grinned when he saw us coming. It was a slight twitch of the mouth upward, but for him, it was warm.

"How goes the filing, gentlemen?" He inquired as we fell into step beside him.

"Fine, Sir. Absolutely wonderful." Simon excitedly jibbed in with. I remained silent, smiling, letting him take the initiative. Zwipp afforded him a glance of recognition before turning to me. "Is that right, Tom?"

My smile widened. "Yes, Sir. Simon here has been a big help, of course." I added. When Simon turned to glare at me, I shrugged innocently. I couldn't help it if I was Zwipp's favorite. I could only enjoy it.

Zwipp laughed. "And modest too, Tom. You really have grown up. Well, boys, keep up the good work." With a final twitching smile he headed to the front to do a head count.

I turned to look at Simon and saw a gaze on him that I had never seen before. Before I could inquire, he spoke. "I'll just never win, will I, Tom? Not against you." His words were calm, but they still rattled me.

"What are you talking about, Simon? Zwipp? Ignore him. I'm sorry I said that before, I was just teasing. He knows me better, that's all."

Simon bought none of my consolation. I didn't think he would have. He was too proud for that. "I've known Zwipp all my life, Tom. Known most of the professors, from my family. Most of them went to Hogwarts. And I know he likes me. That he thinks I'm smart." Looking at me directly, unflinchingly, he finished, "I'm just not you." He said all this monotonously, as if reciting a history lineage. None of it was new, but it had never dared to be spoken between us before.

He continued. "I'm not...I _can't_ be...Tom Riddle. I can't beat you."

I wasn't sure how to respond. What could I tell him? That it wasn't a competition? It was. Simon clearly knew that. And even though he pushed just as hard as I did, desired to be the best as much, he just couldn't be. And we both always knew it. I respected him for his ambition, but I wasn't threatened by him anymore. As a matter of fact, worthwhile as he was to have around, if I was ever threatened by him I doubted I would hang around him.

It had been nice for awhile, to pretend that we were equals. But I knew Simon's ego wouldn't let him stand to be just an acquaintance with me. Yet it wasn't up to me to define the new roles we would play. I left that to him, waiting quietly, watching him try to separate reason from emotion. He really was a true Slytherin. He lost no footing with me in admitting this. It was something we both had known, and I'm sure he had wrestled with. It was a rational decision, not an emotional one, and so should the next step be.

Finally, Simon looked up with cool eyes. In a calm voice he asked, "What would you like to do now?"

I stared back, accepting the passivity in his voice. He had yielded for now. Second place, my number two, was better than no position at all. It touched me that he felt I was worth it. But then, I did run the school unofficially. I could talk my way out of anything. Everyone but Dumbledore either loved me or respected me. And Hagrid. I pushed that aside, seizing instead the enjoyment of my current position. I wasn't used to being in power...or at least having someone else submit to my lead. I was nervous and giddy, remembering my essence. My animagus. The raven, the controller, the creator. Maybe it was right. Maybe this position Simon bestowed on me was right. It felt both natural and horribly awful. But one cannot refuse responsibility thrust upon them when they are capable. And I am capable.

I told myself this as I nodded my silent acceptance at Simon. And walking, with him half a step behind, following me, I repeated it again. It is right.

I kept doing so as we entered Honeydukes. Most of the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were there, talking about the upcoming Quidditch finals at our school. It was between the two of us so animosity was running high. I took a seat at a table near the door and Simon sat to my right. Sammy and Randy joined us, Sammy taking the seat to my left. Randy, a friend of hers, joined by default.

Sammy looked from Simon to me and back again. Tossing back her tangle of hair, she asked, "You both look really odd. What's going on?"

Simon looked at me, so I turned to her and shrugged. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Me, neither," Simon responded.

Sammy rolled her eyes and said exasperatedly, "Fine, whatever. Don't tell me. Live up to your name, Thomas." Even though that fifth year Ravenclaw had dumped her, she was still on her maturity kick. She daintily picked up a Cauldron Cake as she changed the subject. "So what do you think about the Quidditch finals?"

Randy immediately barged in. "We are going to decimate them, that's what! Those damn Huff-n-duffs don't stand a chance. They'll be so slow the game'll be over before they realize it started."

Simon raised his butter beer. "Spoken like a true Slytherin loyalist."

"And Chaser," Sammy added loyally. "Randy has great strategy out there, not to mention power." Turning to me, she asked, "Are you going to go, Tom?"

"Fat chance," Randy cut in darkly. "Riddle-marinkydink hasn't even been to a single game, have you, Tom?" I watched him slurp his drink, muscles bulging. He was an even more intimidating presence than when we had first met.

I smiled at him. "I'll make you a deal. I'll go to the first game of the next season if you come and see a dueling match."

Randy groaned, barely audibly, but Sammy defended me, adding, "They really are quite fun. I did Dueling Club for awhile. And Tom will be president next year for sure, now that Nelle is graduating."

"Well, we don't know that for sure," I said humbly, although it was pretty much a given. Professor Vallandora was already talking to me about holding tryouts the next fall, something that was one of the president's responsibilities.

Randy was still not convinced. "Why won't you go and see this last game, then? It's more important than the first game. I mean, this one decides the house cup for the year!"

I gave him a bemused glance. "With finals here? No way. I'll go next season though, I promise. And we already won the House Cup. I worked out the numbers. The other houses are going to have to defeat the Dark Lord if they want to do something that'll give them enough points to beat us."

I didn't really know if this was true, but it was good to show house spirit. We were all about to toast to another successful Slytherin year when the doors to Honeydukes burst open. Standing at the entrance was both Zwipp and a carrier owl from the school. He was breathing heavily, and the owl hooted in mournful tones. With wide eyes, he said in a voice so strained I thought it would snap, "Children, we have to leave immediately. Something has happened back at Hogwarts." His gaze came to rest on me as he finished. "Dumbledore has been injured."

I barely remember the walk back. It was more of a run, one which Randy made easily but I was left out of breath. Simon, Sammy and I stood inside the hall gasping on weak legs and everyone scurried about. Zwipp left us immediately, telling me to, "keep things under control." I responded by saying that was my phrase of the day, not expecting him to get the pun.

Everyone eventually calmed down enough to stumble back to their common rooms, the Hufflepuffs much more upset than the Slytherins, who were more miffed at having to come back early. I heard one girl mutter, "It's not like we can _do_ anything for him. He should want us to be out there enjoying what time we can, instead of here worrying about him. How selfish." Her friends murmured angrily in agreement.

Sammy rolled her eyes at the girl's back. "How stupid. I for one can't wait to find out what happened to him! Do you think it has anything to do with the Dark Lord?" It always amused me that most of the Slytherins used the term Dark Lord, while others called him Grindelwald.

I nodded, sharing her excitement. She turned her huge eyes on me, squealing, "Tom! You can find out! You can transfigure into a raven and see what's up! It's bound to work!"

Before I could open my mouth Randy retorted, "What, Pre-Prefect Riddle, do something against the rules? Fat chance."

I shared a secret smile with Simon, but before Sammy's perceptive skills could pick up on anything I said mildly, "Sorry, Sammy. I'm just as curious as you are, but I'm not going to risk that. I'll ask one of the professors about it later. We'll know soon enough."

At that, Randy snorted in recognition and Sammy regretfully went with him to the dungeons in search of the Slytherin Common Rooms. When they were out of earshot, I turned to Simon who already knew what I was going to say. "I'll meet you afterward in the Common Rooms. For now, I'll distract whoever is near."

He went down the hall as I closed my eyes and concentrated. Breathing deep, the connection easily overcame me and I was once again the raven. Flying once around Simon's head, he gave me a thumbs up as I flew out the window and perched on the sill of Dumbledore's window. Teetering on the edge, I leaned in close, hidden in the shadows.

Dumbledore lay in his bed, looking deathly pale and thirty years older. A man whom I guessed was a doctor was crushing some herbs into a glass while Nurse Drawt patted his head with a cloth. Dippet was there, saying to the doctor, "The Minister will be here soon. Dumbledore is one of his finest Aurors. What will I tell him?"

The doctor, without a glance, responded coolly, "That this time, the dark wizard got the best of him." With that, he leaned over to administer his potion, clearly focused on his patient.

The lack of attention didn't stop Dippet, who kept rambling, "Three days I knew was too long without him checking in. Always on some secret mission to thwart Grindelwald, and teaching classes, and...protecting....our students. It's too much. Grindelwald is too much. He-"

"Is NOT too much," though it came so softly it seemed almost to have been a shift of the wind, Dumbledore's eyes, now clear, showed them to be his words. Though clearly drained and weak, he forced power into his words, a power that came only from his will. "It-just-wasn't the-time. Too many of them to take on alone. But just- Grindelwald-I can take -him." His eyes, which had been drifting due to the pain killer and soothing clucks from Drawt, snapped sharp for one last phrase. "Before- he gets through- to -Tom." And then he passed out, sucking the consciousness of me into him, leaving me dumbstruck and empty. Chilled, I flew down, aware that things hadn't changed that much at all.


	20. Chapter 20: Riddle Me This

A/N- Gratitude is sent to: Silvertongue, Luinthoron, Kat Riddle, whisper, Dark Night (Good suggestion with the dates. I'll put one in and repost it, and do it from now on if the date isn't mentioned or easily defined in the text), Lizella, Amber, erieka127, Sarah Black, Sida, AniMourner, Martha36, Sunsong, Emily (I know Dumbledore wasn't the Headmaster at the time. I wrote Deputy Headmaster. But thanks for making me keep checking myself!), Midnight and Draconic Ragnorock. I REALLY appreciate you all taking the time to review. If you want me to return the favor, I'd love to. 

Dis-I own it all! Just kidding! I own nothing! 

Chapter 20: Riddle Me This…

Dumbledore was out for the rest of the semester. I didn't really care about that. I was placed back into my class' transfigurations class, which was beyond simple. The other teachers and seventh years pitched in to finish teaching the classes, and amusingly enough my class got Zwipp. I could do no wrong in his eyes, and he even offered me a research position over the summer here at school. He claimed that he was staying over the summer to finish up a few loose ends. I strongly suspected that meant nursing Dumbledore back to health and guarding the school, since after Albus Zwipp was clearly the most capable faculty member. Not only was I delighted to further do further research and not have to shack up at the old orphanage, there was another motivation. Everyone at school was practically trembling with curiosity as to what had happened to Dumbly. No one saw him, and some suspected that he had been taken to that loony bin hospital for crazed wizards. The thought kind of made me smile, especially when Randy did his impression of Dumbledore gone round the bend, complete with drool and a wandering eye. You had to admit, Dumbledore was never completely there to begin with. 

It wasn't true, though. The story that Dumbly was gone, I mean. I routinely checked on Dumbledore's room by spying through his window. He was gone for a few days at a time, taken quietly and inconspicuously out of the room, but he always returned. I shared this information with Simon, who was a bit more troubled about it than I was. 

Sitting on the edge of his bed as we prepared for the ceremony to close out another school year, Simon seemed in deep contemplation. His brow furrowed and bottom lip protruding, he said more to himself, "It's not surprising that something like this is happening."

"Why yes, Simon. I believe they call this ceremony a ritual because it is done every year," I replied, smoothing my gray jacket with the Slytherin emblem shining. It really wasn't that hard to alter clothing, once one had the proper spells. I had gotten a few surprised glances the first time my clothing actually seemed properly fitted and new, but I couldn't have cared less. I was grooming myself for the future. Public appearance meant everything, as did the impressions one makes. Dumbledore came across as an off kilter wizard who would never live up to his potential, with his mismatched socks and muggle clothing. I, on the other hand, looked every bit the promising wizard who the teachers called the future Minister of Magic. I had fully immersed myself in the wizarding culture, knowing that there is where my future lay. And I didn't even have to pay anything for it, though nobody knew that part. 

Simon made no comment back, and when I turned I saw him staring at the ground. "I was just kidding. I know you were talking about Dumbly."

Again I received no reply. Shrugging, I said, "Accio robe!" and the black dress robe I was pointing at flew neatly into my hands. Glancing over my shoulder in the mirror, I added, "Better finish getting ready. We have another house cup to take." 

As if on cue, Mara Vartan, a pretty Slyth fourth year who had green and silver streaks magicked onto her blond hair to show house loyalty stuck her head in and said, "Hurry up. Stop primping in here. We all want to go down together. Solidarity, you know." 

I saw Simon's eyes follow the pretty blond out the door and smiled. "I could make a love potion for you. Or cast a spell on her." No response. "Or a curse, depending on how you look at it." 

I finally got a reaction out of him, but it wasn't what I expected. "I'm thinking about Dumbledore."

"Well stop. " I was the moniker of compassion.

"Tom, you know they put some dark curse on him. It has to be. That's why they've been getting all those weird herbs, and had that auror visit. They need information." Simon looked back down, in his own world again. "He's not getting any better, from what you've seen."

I picked up Randy's rat and threw it at Simon. "Again, stop it. Who cares? You're not a fan of his. And I can teach you better transfigurations than he can."

Simon stroked the petrified rat, calming him. "You know that isn't the point. No matter what you say, you know how good a wizard Dumbledore is. He's one of the few that can lift a finger against Grindelwald. Some think he's the only real defense against Grindelwald, in the end. I would think you, of all people, would care about that."

I was trained. I was in control. As the fear of Simon's reasoning began to bubble up as it did in the moments I let my mind wander on its own, I bit it back harshly. Smiling, I said, "Our pillar of reason. Simon, you are, like always, a beacon of practicality. I salute you." As I topped off my hat to him, I added, "But please correct me if I stand in the wrong, but I was under the impression that your parents were in favor of Grindelwald? At least, you've never expressed worry about him before, even when one of us died from him."

Simon's jaw clenched as I brought up Dash. I knew I could push Simon like this. Emotion would not overwhelm him. It wasn't in his nature. All I had to do was present the facts of reason and he would follow. It was his security blanket. 

"Grindelwald is losing support, Tom. Either his followers are becoming more fanatical, or they are scared. He's beyond mad with power, and no one trusts him. I agree with some of his ideals, but there is a limit. If there was a good opposition against him, I wouldn't be opposed to it. But without Dumbledore, there isn't even an option, really."

"Oh, please. You're scared, and Grindelwald is losing sight of his platform. And that is good news. As for me, I can take care of myself. Although I am sure I was at the top of your list of concerns." I walked over to him as he stood up. He was almost as tall as I, though with lighter hair and less angles on his impassive face. "There are always options, Simon. You just have to make them. Look at those Muggles fighting the world war. You took Muggle Studies this semester. A tyrannical ruler whose zeal overcame his goals, now engaged in a battle of good versus evil…it's cute, how they copy us. If they can believe in themselves, ignorant as they are, you certainly can." I gave him a half smile and added, "Shall we?"

As I turned to leave, Simon's voice rang out behind me, a rich mingling of wryness and wonder. " I don't believe there's muggle in you, Riddle."

My shoulders' clenched as a rod of ice jammed itself up my spine. In my gut I felt sick, but I just said jokingly as my cross irritated my skin, "Haven't you heard? I was an immaculate conception. No muggle in me!" 

"So that's why your original father was so mad! Merlin's your biological dad, then?" Simon gamely played along, but I could tell he wasn't so certain it was a joke. I, unfortunately, was. To hear my fondest desire out loud saddened me, but I couldn't afford to brush this biological father aside so quickly. Even if he played no role in my completion of Salazar's legacy, I still owed my mother, my line, retribution. 

The closing ceremony was a bore as usual. Dippet droned on, and we all blocked his voice out. The only upset was that the Gryffindors received the House Cup. Amid wild cheers, the Slytherins angrily complained. Dippet held up his hands and tried to shout over everyone, "Please! I know that, technically, Slytherin has the most points. But in all good conscience, I had to award Gryffindor another fifty, for being so brave while their head of house has been incapacitated. They exemplify their house's qualities. I know that you all will understand." Sitting, his face almost purple, he ignored the hisses from our table.

"Bullocks," Damien grumbled from further down the table. "It's pure Slytherin prejudice. If Zwipp canned it, we wouldn't get any points for keeping a stiff upper lip." For once I agreed with him. Dippet, while fond of me, wasn't too keen on most of the Slytherins. But then, he wasn't really a hands-on Headmaster. He mostly deferred to Dumbledore, who clearly favored the Gryffin-apes. Looking up at the faculty table, I saw Zwipp purse his own lips in distaste. Even when he wasn't here, Dumbledore got his way. Typical.

The following month of research flew by in a sea of potions, charms and life. Who knew that there were bell-shaped flowers as blue as ocean crystals that sprouted on the Hogwarts grounds every June? They were large and small, with winding, creeping vines that crept up every stump in the gardens. Every morning they opened with songs, and you could see the leaves rise and extend as if in stretch to welcome the sun's feeding energy. Snuffy Bear, Winn's little brown rag of a dog, spent hours yapping at the plant, who playfully whacked her back and uncurled her tail so she could chase it. 

But it was more than the raucous songs or pretty bells that implanted in my mind forever the memory of those playful spring blossoms. They gave me a far greater gift than the enjoyment of life. They gave me the key to immortal life. 

It was an early Sunday afternoon when I was outside, working with those plants. The sun was only just rising, casting a reddish orange shadow over the landscape. Since these mystical plants only live for one month a year, hiding beneath the ground the other eleven till their frail dispositions can handle the outside world once more, they required such constant attention in order to get all the research done in time. Pushing Snuffy aside repeatedly, I was about ready to charm her legs off so I could finish my work when a different shadow cast itself over me.

A cool grayness enveloped me, and I looked up from the sweat stinging my eyes to see the ghostly figure of Albus Dumbledore. I had not seen him in a few weeks. Every time I had checked, his room had been vacant. But now, even with him hunched over me, I questioned whether this was really him. It was not only the age that his ordeal had scarred him with. There was a vacancy in his eyes, an emptiness that had been glimpsed before but never dominated his face. It was accusing and guilty, calmness reached through terror. The edges were as hard as the bits of beard so brittle they fell from his face, leaving empty patches of marble among the red hairs turned gray. 

It shook me to my core and disgusted me, made my nostrils flair and brow furrow. He was human and something else, perhaps what is left when everything one defined oneself as has been deserted. I felt no pity, only awe that he had let this state befall him. He had obviously failed and been broken, and had not the strength to either rebuild nor gracefully end it all. I shuddered inside at such a prospect. And whatever respect I had had for him, for his misguided ways and perfect authority, his dark eyes sucked out at that very moment. From that moment on, in my deepest thoughts, he never again was called Dumbledore. The figure before me, shot down by powers he refused to contemplate, resided in the lower position of Albus. 

We sat locked in that position, him keeling over me, eyes drawing me in, and I kneeling before him and the flowers in a classic though shallow posture of servitude. I had no game to play with what was before me. 

The bells drown out his shallow breathing as Albus suddenly lunged downward, pointing a crooked finger at me. A smile spread across his lips stained yellow from whatever draught Zwipp had given him. He began to whisper, a chant in time with the humming tune of the bells. "A riddle you are Thomas Marvolo, oh yes indeed. A riddle you carry inside of you. But answer me this: what good is the answer to the riddle if only one person can get it?" 

I stood up cautiously, dusting myself off. "Not much good, I would guess. A hollowed success." 

Albus laughed, a single bark of a laugh, and fingered the plants. "Lovely, aren't they?" he spoke to himself, smelling the blossoms. "They only grow here at Hogwarts, did you know? Once they lived in Armenia, but it got too hostile there. They migrated down here, right around the time this school was built. They felt their secret could be kept here. This is the place for secrets, you do know." He laughed at that.

I crouched beside him, looking at the humming blue little ball. "What is their secret?" 

At that Albus rocked back on his heels. "You have your secret, they have theirs. Everybody has their own." 

"And you know it?" I asked, standing up and walking behind him. He said in a voice that was slightly reminiscent of his old arrogant self, "I do indeed. They gave it to me." The clear implication was, of course, that it would not be shared with me. 

I stood there, my hand gripping my wand as Albus leaned down to the earth to whisper in the bell's mouth. A writhing anger swam up my stomach staring at him. I doubted he knew the secret. He just wanted to seem important. That the plants I had worked with all these weeks would not trust me, a lowly Slytherin. I was not like him, I had not a Gryffindor's courage to stupidly go and have myself cursed. I did not understand the respect he carried for the lowly, for it was I who had been there and knew how terrible it was, and knew that anyone who stayed down for any reason did not deserve life. He would never live up to the potential he had because of his fear masked as morality. and I, who had to fight for everything I earned, was left looked down upon by Albus and those like him because I saw them as they were. Posers of significance, seeing whatever they could not handle as wrong. It was weak and repulsive, and I could prove it. I drew my wand with every intention of wracking the truth out of Albus. 

"Albus!" A voice cried out. I swear, this man must be beloved by something. Frowning, I pocketed my wand as Albus swung around. Zwipp was running towards us. 

"Hello, Odios," Albus said pleasantly. "Have you come out to speak with the flowers as well?"

"I-what?" Zwipp turned to me questioningly. I shrugged my shared confusion back at him. Zwipp placed a hand on my shoulder, guiding me behind him and placing himself between Albus and I. His face was a mask of patience. "Come now, Albus." He reached a hand out to him, which Albus stubbornly refused. 

Rising on his own, Albus said in an upset tone, "I'm not a child, Odios. If you weren't as rigid, the plants might talk with you, too. Now I'm going to see to my library." And with that, he was off hobbling up towards the castle.

Zwipp and I stood there in silence for a moment, until I finally broke it asking, "Do the plants really talk?"

Zwipp had a funny look on his face as he replied, "If they do, and they chose Albus first, it would make sense they don't bother trying anyone else, doesn't it?" He saw my smile and hurriedly added, "Not that I am making fun of Albus. He is a great mind. Just…unconventional…especially as of late." Zwipp wracked a hand through his hair in frustration. Zwipp, with his cold calculations and clear-headed reasoning was often at odds with Albus. He must be bad off, to speak so freely to me. A nice advantage to be taken.

"I could sit with him for awhile," I offered to Zwipp. I had tried to do so before, but the adults had been very careful to keep Albus securely away. But the thought of Albus's library was too tempting not to try again.  I saw gratitude and an ounce of surprise on Zwipp's face.

"That's very kind of you, Tom." He was too relieved to ask me why. I could see his mind wrestle. "He is better…more coherent at least. I suppose it would be alright. He's to have his sleeping draught and medicine now, anyway."

I followed Zwipp to his lab were a smoking yellow potion had been fixed. On the table I saw things like an eagle's heart, a vial of human blood, and other ingredients never before visible at school. I was impressed that Zwipp had managed to keep these hidden from me, and wondered if they were legal. Not that it mattered to me. But would Albus have a problem with legality when his own health was at risk, I wonder? Probably not, the hypocrite. 

Zwipp gave Albus the draught. I remained shielded by the doorframe, fascinated. I had never been in Albus' private rooms before. They were every bit as gaudy and haphazard as he was. The shelves were on angles, the walls were different colors and candles rotated in dancing patterns of flickering fire above. It was odd and eccentric like the transfigurations classroom. 

Zwipp patted my shoulder as he exited. Albus was asleep almost instantaneously. I tested him to make sure. Pointing my wand at the desk, I said, "Mobilarbus paperweight!" I directed it discreetly at Fawkes, who squawked so indignantly I was sure the dead would wake. If Albus thought his baby was in danger, he would have gotten up. Of course, I could just claim that he flew in the way. Luckily, Albus was indeed dead to the world and did not stir.

I smiled at Fawkes and tried to shrug an apology at him. Fawkes circled overhead suspiciously before flying out the window. I ran to Albus' bookshelf. Nothing was written in any of the texts on herbology. I bit my lip, wondering. What could it be under? Then it hit me, and I smiled. It would be in Albus' history texts, known to the rest of the world as folklore. I scanned the shelves quickly, not knowing how long Albus would remain in this sleeping state. I didn't dare take the books out. 

Finally, I came across a book called The Legends of Life. It caught my attention because it was so tattered it must have been perused a thousand times. Flipping through the glossary, I came to the plants section. On the fifth page I discovered Albus' singing secret-teller. It was called The Lifesong, because in ancient times it was revered as a source of life. It was believed that while the bells sang, they could draw the death out of a person whose heart was deemed worthy.  It fed off the death it soaked up, but since there were so few hearts worthy it had taken to blooming only one month a year. I smiled at the thought. 

The last line caught my attention though. It read, "This myth possibly came about from the flower's use in the attempt at necromancy and resuscitation of life that had some success in the third century. However, since these practices are banned, and have never proven to work completely, the powers of the flower have since been given over to legend."

I sat back, trembling with excitement at the thought. How could I have missed such an idea? There were infinite ways to cheat the obstacles of death that I had never considered! I could uncover the past by bringing it to my present. I could bring back Salazar, and find out what his chamber of secrets was. I could bring my mother back, and find out who my real father was. The past could predict the future better than any divination class. 

But I would need helpers. Supplies, and books. Bodies too, probably. Spells like these often only worked in groups. It wouldn't be easy finding people, then figuring out a way to make sure they could not mess anything up. But I was capable of that, I thought. I had grown in the role of a leader, being the mentor and teacher to many already at school. This was just a different area of study, one that I had already introduced Simon to. But Simon was bright, and could see the advantages. The others would be more of a challenge. But first I needed a way in. 

That way did not come easy or soon. Weeks went by with nothing coming to my mind. Frustration filled me. I read every book on Dumbledore's shelf, and none did much good. I wasn't surprised. Our library's dark arts section was of little use as well. What was needed was Knockturn Alley…or an equivalent of it. 

Then came the in. I do not say luck, because I do not believe in luck. Nor fate. I refuse to give up my autonomous control of life, like so many sheep do. I am sure things would have worked out anyway. The way they happened to play out, though, came with a letter from Sammy.

Occasionally over this summer I had received letters from my fellow Slyths, most of whom wrote because they were curious about Albus. I told them nothing, and had expected them to stop owl mailing me. This time, however, the letter the old barn owl dropped onto my plate one morning in early august was different. 

I recognized Sammy's elegant scrawl even before reading the letter, which said:

Dear Thomas,

France was terrible and my sister is a bloody pain. Anyway, I have an offer to make to you. You simply will not be able to refuse this. Damien Malfoy is having a dinner party at his house next week. Primarily Slythies. I was going to take Randy though I despise him at the moment, and then I thought of you. I am allowed to take someone, and Randy is probably invited anyway. But can you imagine the look on Damien's face if you came? He would absolutely die. Please come, our parents are invited as well and it's going to be a dreadful bore. Seeing Minny turn purple at your presence might make it bearable. Owl me back as soon as you can.

Sincerely,

Samantha DeRosa

I had to smile. Sammy was as flighty in her letters as she was in person, but there was a clever drollness beneath that was tolerable. I was all set to go, but for another, less pleasant reason than being Sammy's amusement. The Malfoy's no doubt had a large collection of dark arts books and artifacts. How to get to use them, however, was going to be quite a test.

This problem loomed over me even as I stood at the entrance to the Malfoy mansion. It wasn't as large and ghastly as I had been told. Granted, next to Hogwarts it was probably the biggest place I had ever been to. But the grounds had plants and springs everywhere to keep them company. The mansion was tall and white, but the pillars and delicate designs everywhere made it busy and beautiful. I wasn't really surprised. Malfoy was too great a politician to not have impeccable taste. 

Sammy flicked my arm disdainfully. She was dressed once again in red, but with less frills. Swinging her brown hair back, she said, "Go on and announce our names to the Squib." A servant of Malfoy's was standing nervously to one side, announcing people as the came down the hallway into the main room. I did as she said without comment. Sammy held her breath as it was said, and leaned over to whisper to me, "I can't look right at Minny or I'll crack up."

"I'll look for you," I said. I had no problem spotting him. His face as I descended caused me unbridled delight. First a horror white, then a mortified purple, and finally shading into a furious red. I conveyed as much to Sammy, who bit her lip. But other than Damien, few people took notice of us. In a room filled with high officials, two students were nothing. 

Sammy first spun us around to where her parents were standing. Both were of short stature and had pleasant features and cunning eyes. I was already taller than her mother, even in her heeled boots. I smiled evenly. After a few minutes it was clear that I was no longer necessary, for Sammy had gotten her amusement already. I excused myself and trailed to the back of the main hall. 

There I found Simon with Randy and three other people around our age. I recognized them from Hogwarts. Upon seeing me, Simon straightened up and made the introductions. "Tom, good to see you. Sammy said you were coming. She's a pip isn't she? Anyway, this is Olivia and Gordon. They are in Ravenclaw. Both of their parents work with Mr. Malfoy in the Ministry. And of course you know Jerome." Jerome was a fellow Slyth a year ahead of us. He gave me a fair smile, which I returned. I had only spoken to Jerome on a handful of occasions. I knew that he was the Keeper on our Quidditch team and now was Captain. He was large and sturdy with a confident stance. He was also a close friend of Damien's. 

I extended a greeting to Olivia and Gordon, both of whom gave me a respectful nod back. Then I pushed Simon out of their circle and down a ways so we could speak. His face was flushed and glancing at the glass in his hand I wondered if he was fully sober. But the second he saw the serious look on my face his eyes became unglazed and snapped to attention.

I told him about what I had found out in Dumbledore's study. I left out, of course, under what circumstances I had come across this knowledge. But those details did not matter. Simon's eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped a bit. "Are you sure, Tom? This sounds ridiculous. I mean, do you think we could bring someone…or something…back from the past? From the dead?"

I had expected him to be dubious at first. But I also knew that there was a longing in his heart to try this, to achieve what no one else could. He was a Slytherin, after all. "I'm not sure it will work, Simon, of course not. But if it could, think about it! We would be legends! We would have seen death, tasted it, and been able to suck it dry."

I knew he was wavering, so I played the wonderful Cicero argument. "Now, I am not going to talk about why we should do it now.  I mean, lets forget about questions such as, where else are we going to have the resources available at Hogwarts? The talent so confined? That this could be the only time in our life for us to accomplish something so great…to be part of it. To put Slytherin on the map forever. I won't throw that in your face, because that doesn't matter…does it?"

Simon stared into his glass, a small smile playing on his face. When he looked up, I saw a knowing glance. "Cicero," was all he said.

I gave him a grudging smile and admitted, "I should have known you would know that. But it doesn't change anything. Was anything I said untrue?"

Simon shook his head. "No, Tom, you said everything right. All I want to know is what's in it for you?"

I was taken aback but didn't let it show. Through a stoic façade I replied smoothly, "what isn't in it? It's the opportunity of a lifetime. No one can do it but us. And think-if we can defeat death, we hold the key to defeating Grindelwald. Not Albus. Not the Aurors, nor the Gryffin-apes. Because we have the talent. We have the courage to try it." I paused for a moment, staring through him before adding, "And I don't let chances go by. Ever. You can have in or not, but can you live with yourself for passing this opportunity up? You're the first person I am asking. But I can get others. Or I will find a way to do it alone."

Finished, I stepped back to get him in full view and added softly, "And I will not ask twice."

Simon's eyes never failed to reach mine. He was important but not irreplaceable. I was. I saw almost pride in his eyes that he had been approached first. He did not pass opportunity. It went against his nature. And as long as I could give it to him, he was mine. He nodded once, a movement so slight his curls barely moved. He raised his glass to me, and said, "To…how did you put it…eating death?"

I laughed and clinked glasses, about to say, "Not exactly," when Damien beat me to it. 

"Eating death is a bit extreme. I suggest just waiting until your appetite becomes used to good food like caviar." Simon and I spun around to see Damien before us. It was hard to believe how much he had changed in certain ways. His eyes had darkened to coal like Dash's, and his spindly physic had only grown more angular. But he had poise and a calmness about him that radiated from his dress robes. He didn't bother to hide the snarling look of disdain that he glossed me over with. 

Simon drew his breath in, but I merely extended a civil smile of greeting. "Damien! Wonderful party."

Damien snorted suspiciously. "Right."

I gave Simon a knowing grin. "No, really. As a matter of fact, this party might just go down in history. An immortal night, if you will." Realization dawned on Simon of what I was doing. He looked both horrified and impressed. 

Damien furrowed his brow, trying to figure us out. "Are you drunk, Riddle? How common."

"Unfortunately, I am not." I replied. Then I said, "But seriously, as much fun as it is to torment each other Damien, I do actually have a reason for being here tonight."

Seeing a possible edge of power, Damien folded his arms and waited. "Oh?"

Giving my glass to a small house elf wobbling around with a huge silver tray, I said, "Really. I have a proposition for you."

Damien waited a few seconds before impatiently waving me on. "Well?"

Shaking my head regretfully, I looked him over and said, "I am not sure if it is wise to bring it up now."

Damien rolled his eyes and spat in anger, "Just say it, Riddle. Get on with it."

I wagged my finger at him. "I only do so because we have a common ground on this matter."

"Really? A common ground. Us?" Damien sounded amused but intrigued.

Walking up close to him, so close I could hear his breathing and nothing else, I whispered, "We mourn the same death, with no retribution. I can give us, and the world, retribution." Standing back, I saw the terror in Damien's eyes that I would name his father. But I said then so softly the wind had to strain to carry it to him. "Grindelwald, Damien. I know how we can get back at Grindelwald."

Relief flooded Damien's face before he replaced his stone façade. He studied me, seeing the best way to approach this. It would be ridiculous to claim that I lied, for he missed Dash greatly. At I was giving him what society could not. A place to turn his helpless fury and vengeance. "What do you get in all of this, Riddle?"

I shrugged. "I have no love for Grindelwald. And I miss Dash as well." Dash, who had too much Albus in him. Who valued other people more than his own well being. He had ambition and would do anything however illegal, which is what made him a Slytherin. His only downfall was that he would do that anything for others. That was his weakness. And as much as I could think fondly of him, I could no longer pity him. He was not a perfect figure for me to idealize. I did not miss him. My heart had closed that out long ago, when his death had been so in vain. Perhaps things would have been different had he lived. Most likely I would have outgrown him anyway, I told myself. And I doubted that I was growing into someone he would still see as a young sibling. I could not see myself respecting him either now. But he would remain as he was in my memory. A true-blooded wizard who had taken to me, and who I owed retribution to if I could give it. 

I had no need of saying anything about the ambition fulfilling potential of this venture. Damien's mouth was flooding with hunger of power. I smiled. I had him. For my purposes, which I would entrust to no one, I had him.

Simon looked at me in grudging awe. "Your name's going to end up in everyone's home, isn't it, Riddle? With your death-eating."

I gave him a cool smile. "Not Riddle. I will be the flight of death. Voldemort." And I left Simon with that answerless riddle for now. 

A/N-wow, Death Eaters don't sound to bad right now, do they? Don't worry, they will!


	21. Chapter 21: The Dark Mark

A/N-Tom is just starting his fourth year now. The year is 1941. I am following the timeline presented on the Harry Potter Lexicon site, which gives a wonderful brief timeline of Voldemort's main moments, like when he kills his father and opens the chamber. So if you want to know when in my story he'll open the chamber, look on that site. 8-) And I am trying to include more characters. It'll get better as the Death Eaters grow.  
  
Dis-Ownership=not me.  
  
  
  
Chapter 21: The Dark Mark  
  
  
  
'"Follow me, I know the way," the blind man said to the deaf man.' That phrase is the only way I can sum up the beginning of my fourth year at Hogwarts. I can't remember who said it first-not that I would mind taking credit for the quote. It always made me smile with its pseudo- intellectualism while at the same time actually hitting something. It first came to my mind during the Sorting.  
  
I was always interested in the Sortings. More so than anything else the Sorting Hat itself. My mind burned and my fingers itched to examine it-to take it apart and figure out its workings, to master it and take knowledge from it.  
  
The pickings were slim this year. Because of Grindelwald's taking of eastern Europe, many families were either in hiding or schooling their children at home. Slytherin got the most students this year, not to my surprise. Slytherin families had little fear sending their children away, for many had secret allegiance to the Dark Lord. Grindelwald. The Dark Lord Grindelwald. What kind of name was that? Hardly intimidating to me. I wonder what it means? I should look it up.  
  
I had obviously drifted, because Sammy hit me at that moment. Eyes glinting, she wagged her tongue at me. "What trap were you letting your mind walk you into this time, Thomas? No, never mind. I know you won't answer. Have your little secrets, we all do."  
  
"Yes, but I doubt yours are as interesting as mine," I retorted glibly.  
  
She snorted, than changed the topic was the same speed and lack of transition that she was known for. "Never mind. Look at that being sorted. What's up there?" Following her gaze, I saw a small girl totter onto the stool. Her hands grasped fervently onto the sides as her weak, colorless eyes swooped overhead. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she squeaked to the center of the stool, feeling it with her body to make the proper adjustments. Ever so slightly she dipped her head to the left as Dumbledore, standing over that shoulder, began speaking to her softly.  
  
She reeked of pity. I concealed the squeeze in my chest, which I took as abhorrence. "She's blind," I said matter-of-factly. I caught Simon's gaze of amused puzzlement, and couldn't help but smile back. I saw most of the Slytherins smiling as word trickled down and everyone got sight of her. I can't really say why we all smiled, it was an involuntary reaction. Perhaps it was because she did look a sad sight, teetering there with a false expression of bravado masking fear we could smell. Or, it was wonder at seeing someone's weakness to blatantly, without having to dig. I knew things she never could, like the way she looked. It was a strange thing. I had seen blind people before, of course, but never when I shared it with others as an experience. But it-we-could be worse. We could be staring at her so hard with pity pouring out of us like the other houses were that she no doubt was drowning in the waves of compassion.  
  
She was sorted into Ravenclaw. I stared after her as she was guided down the stairs by the healthier Dumbledore. Zwipp told me that for the past two weeks Dumbledore had made a remarkable improvement, though he had little memory of the past few months. As suspicious as I was of Dumbledore, I had been averting my eyes from his since I got back.  
  
Randy saw my staring and threw out, "Riddle, you would like the lame ones wouldn't you? Sick if you ask me."  
  
I ignored him and said to Simon and Sammy, "I wonder how she's going to be taught? I didn't know blind people could be wizards."  
  
"They don't make very good ones," Sammy said bluntly. "They can't-they can't see what they are trying to do, so most concepts wouldn't make sense to them. So therefore, they couldn't do most magic. That makes sense, right?" She looked at us for reinforcement.  
  
I shrugged. "It can't make it easier." Looking back, I added, "If I were her, I would fix it."  
  
Simon gave a slightly mocking cough. "Most people aren't you. It's not exactly safe."  
  
I smiled benignly. "I wouldn't care. If I couldn't be perfect, I wouldn't want to live."  
  
A small laugh came from Sammy. "So are you perfect then, Thomas?" Her eyes were slightly more serious than I had seen them before.  
  
I paused, then said grinning, "I'm getting there."  
  
Simon forced my attention away. "Hey, look who Dumbly-do-right is introducing to the blind girl?"  
  
Everyone turned as looked at a plump, be speckled girl with a permanent frown and enormous glasses being introduced by Albus. I heard Randy give a shriek of delight. "It's Moaning Myrtle! Dumb-Dufus is gonna have the whiny Huff-n-Puff show that poor girl around, I bet! He probably thinks it'll do them both some good. Oh, the old man is off his rocker."  
  
I laughed, agreeing. "It'll be as effective as the blind man saying, come follow me, I know the way! to the deaf man. "  
  
"Well, at least she can't hate old Myrtle on sight," Sammy threw in.  
  
"Yeah, now if only she were deaf, as well. Myrtle might have found a soul mate!" Damien added from down the table.  
  
"Shut up, guys!" Simon warned us. We had been laughing so loud that Albus, Myrtle and the blind girl had turned in our direction. We gave sweet smiles back, and only Myrtle continued to glare, protruding her lower lip in an appropriate expression of smarting woe.  
  
The ceremony was near ending, and we all stood. Damien brushed by me, and I allowed him to pass. As he did so, we shared a nod of recognition. Damien was now a prefect, which was perfect for access to anything. However, I still hated the thought of leaving anything to him and resolved to use him only when absolutely necessary. We had a grudging truce, and a shared shiver of excitement at the year ahead and the plans for the Death Eaters. Simon was still unofficially my second in command, and I certainly trusted and respected him more than Damien. However, Damien had the tools that we needed, and a healthy thirst for usurping Simon. It was going to be tricky juggling them both.  
  
Simon had been staring at me as Damien passed. Giving him a smile, I drew him close conspiratorially and whispered, "Fifty galleons that one of us get stuck tutoring the lame now too." We shared a grin at that, and I saw Simon's back straighten. Balancing acts I could do.  
  
  
  
And then, there were some things I was still becoming equipped at. A few weeks later I slammed my head down on the table. Figuratively. I was about a second away from doing it literally. Instead, I glanced at the talking clock and sighed. Fifteen more minutes of Hades with Hagrid.  
  
It hadn't taken long to get most of Hagrid's trust back. I was patient to a fault, and Annie Weasely had told Hagrid that my plan had not involved cheating. Whether she was so vehement about that to cover her own guilt or if she really believed it didn't matter to me. What did was my shining reputation among my tutees that went straight back to Dippet. But Hagrid and I simply did not fit well together, and it was a pain to constantly fit into his simplistic, narrow view of things.  
  
"Rubeus, it does NOT hurt the animal. The Liondragon will just go to sleep."  
  
"I just don't see WHY they need to transport it. Why not let the little guy live where he was born?" Hagrid was incessant.  
  
I gritted my teeth. "That isn't even the point of the essay! Look, you are just supposed to talk about the history of the Liondragon and where it lives today."  
  
"Why do I have to follow the exact point of what the essay asks?"  
  
"Because that is what your grade depends on!" And so does my reputation.  
  
"But isn't it more important that the little guy gets his voice heard?"  
  
"His voice!?! Oh---" I did slam my head down on the table at that. Gently, though.  
  
"Er-Tom?" His voice was hesitant.  
  
I didn't move. "What, Rubeus?"  
  
"Are you alright there?"  
  
"Spiffy."  
  
A pause, then he replied, confused, "Oh, uh-alright. Whenever you are ready to continue, just---let me know---"  
  
I sighed, then finally straightened. "Look, Rubeus, how do you know that the Li-the little guy doesn't WANT to leave?" His dull eyes sparked. A hurried on this thread. "I mean, you can't exactly talk to it-him-could you? So maybe he does like it."  
  
Rubeus gave it the serious consideration of a few seconds. Long for him. "By Merlin, you're right Tom! I didn't think of that!" His quill began to move furiously.  
  
I began to wave frantically for him to stop, then gave up. I slouched down, watching him write my point down. Finally, we actually did the simple history Binn's required. It took over an hour.  
  
When Hagrid finally clumsily gathered his things and left, I sat for a moment enjoying the quiet of him not being there to talk. Over my shoulder I heard laughing. I turned to and narrowed my eyes. Simon sat in the corner with the blind girl. What was her name again? Sophie something. Simon was helping her with the added load of learning the course material blind. I had wanted to tutor her, for the simple experience and to satiate my curiosity, but with my work and other tutees, and because Albus was involved I am sure, Simon got the job. Next to Sophie sat Myrtle, her guardian eyes as Albus called her. Everyone else called her the seeing-eye rat.  
  
I stood and went over to their table. Myrtle gave me a hiss, and Simon greeted me stiffly but civilly. I smiled at Sophie, who smiled back somewhere over my head and called out, "Who's there?"  
  
I walked over to her. She seemed calm and composed, which surprised me. I could see why Simon didn't mind working with her. "Tom Riddle. I'm in Simon's house, also a fourth year. I was tutoring over in the corner." I gave Simon an evil grin. "Simon does not stop talking about you, so I had to come and meet you."  
  
Simon rolled his eyes, and Myrtle screeched, "Don't listen to him, Sophie! He's only trying to embarrass you. He must not like you, because I'm here. You don't like me, do you Tom?" Her watery eyes glared.  
  
I bit back a groan and replied, "Of course I like you, Myrtle! I'll prove it you-some other time." Myrtle harrumphed but seemed satisfied. Sophie just laughed and said amusedly, "I could tell he was lying, Myrtle. I don't need eyes for that."  
  
I stepped back, a bit stung, but replied easily enough, "I was joking, not lying."  
  
Sophie's wandering eyes lit. "Is there a difference?"  
  
"Yes," I replied coolly. "It's called intent." She seemed just as smug and sanctimonious as Albus right then. I wasn't about to let her crush me under a moral heel. I lifted the tone of my voice and said, "I hope you do take my apology, though. Sometimes my wit is taken a bit too seriously."  
  
Sophie's brow crinkled. I could tell she was trying to read my voice. She was probably wishing she could see my face, thinking she could figure me out then. It aggravated me a little, because I knew she wouldn't be able to tell even if she had perfect vision. I had crafted an almost impenetrable façade.  
  
"Well, Tom. You sound sincere. Apology accepted." She extended a tiny hand past me. I gently took it, marveling that I could crush it with one squeeze. In so many ways she was a pinnacle victim, as helpless as anything I had seen here. But at the same time she had tried to stand over me. A moment of amused respect was shifted into a more secure feeling of confidence that she would only be a victim against me.  
  
Simon finally cleared his throat. Sophie turned her attention to him, following his voice as he rose. "That's it for now, I think. We'll keep working on memorization of the charms, than add the vicarious experience later this week."  
  
Sophie rose slowly and took Myrtle's arm. Smiling a bit sadly, she replied strongly enough, "If I can survive memorizing that much. Thanks again, Simon." She then turned to me, and I stepped aside. As she passed, she put her hand out and groped until she hit between my right shoulder and chest. I instinctively tensed, discomforted by the touch. I still hated any contact, especially those which I didn't initiate for some purpose. My sensitive skin tightened beneath my sweater to where her grazing fingers was painful.  
  
I was sure she would feel my tension so I breathed slowly and forced myself to relax. She paused a moment, with that faraway look lost in her world of improvised sights. Then she said, "Bye to you too, Tom. Or should I call you the Joker?"  
  
"The Riddler, is more like it," Simon burst in quietly, as if he had thought about it. Sophie nodded slightly, then said, "Riddle, the Riddler. Are you a Riddle, Tom? Fitting, I guess."  
  
I stepped back, away from her touch, and said politely, "Tom is fine." Her hand left me cold and with my heart pounding. I didn't like to be touched or tried to be figured out. I didn't like a walking example of a handicap one could never shake, like the blood in one's veins, let alone a peaceful acceptance of it. But she enveloped her weakness as part of herself, as if it gripped her to an inner humanity. Strength in weakness. It ran contrary to everything I needed to hold on to. Even among the handicapped, I was alone. I couldn't find rectitude with other mudbloods, who didn't see muggle as weakness. Now apparently I couldn't relate to anyone. I felt hallow at the false connection my unconscious had begun to form with her, and filled it instead with the knowledge of just how pitiable she was. If she could tell I was different, then it was fact. I was not like the rest of these people. I wasn't misunderstood, I literally understood and followed a different law of being. So I had to focus on what I could be like, or become.  
  
She nodded, and with that, she and Myrtle were off. Simon walked over to me and watched, searching for me to give him a clue. I stared back at him like stone. Finally, he said, "She unnerves me---I could hurt her, but I could also feel that I could be struck down by her."  
  
"Her weakness is so blatant that it draws you in. Her false courage is admirable, but it really is just a pathetic life. She'll never reach her potential. If you see that, then you'll realize all that unnerves you is the immense power you hold over a creature like that." My voice gained strength as my conviction regrew with a fiery vigor.  
  
As usual Simon's eyes were differential and keen. He gave me the respect of a teacher, and the awe of the unknown. "Is that really how you feel, Tom? You're amazing. You were taken with her, you felt sorry for her and impressed by her. More so than I. At least for a second---I think." His voice trailed off, as his thoughts came in wisps of memory. "But I can never tell with you. That's the safety trick, isn't it? You really make yourself immune to feelings, then. That control is-is-admirable." I could see he meant this.  
  
"A trick?" I laughed. "Hardly. And feelings are necessary. They give you desire, and ambition. You just have to invert them, give them a twist. And to others, if you can make yourself impenetrable, you can keep the whole world guessing," I answered with a crooked smile. "And if they are guessing, they aren't getting you. But at least they are thinking about you."  
  
Simon took all this in, still standing immobile in the middle of the library. Slowly his reasoning sorted out a flaw. "But it can't. Humanity just doesn't function that way-I couldn't just make myself stop feeling unwanted things all the time. It's not possible."  
  
And that, Simon, I thought to myself, is why you will never rise above me. No matter how hard you try, your box of reason will confine your ambition. Reason says humanity can't cast off emotions. Voldemort says the right emotions can cast off humanity.  
  
To Simon I grinned and laughed. "Try magic, then, if its impossible!" He laughed as well, but I could tell he knew I was keeping something from him. And in not telling him, for the first time I saw fear with the respect. It was a hell of a lot better than trying to seek out approval.  
  
As we walked out, I saw Sophie entering the Transfigurations classroom. Three people were helping her, and she was smiling and gracious to all. A smack in my gut, a nice ball of envy and unworthiness, shot into me from her. For she didn't look at me with the ease she did everyone else, though we all looked the same to her. Apparently even my voice, my presence, my essence was a distant other. Nobody had cared for me when I got here. I had been an avoidable different, more often feared or repulsive than pitiable. I told myself that that had been better, that I could not have acted any differently for me to be where I was today. I didn't need to be cared for by others. I didn't need to care for others. I didn't need to feel anything but superiority toward her. I had conquered what she could not. It was the same with everyone who felt or took compassion. It was a weakness I could not tolerate. I could never love a thing like that.  
  
  
  
Simon stayed even more reserved from me than usual. Which was fine by me, since I had been busy finishing a small detail for our first official Death Eaters meeting. We gathered in the prefect's bathroom. Not an ideal location, I will grant you, but it served its purpose. Damien and the two other prefects were present, and would ensure an efficient lookout for the others. There were mostly Slyths, and two Ravenclaws. A total of eight members in all. Most sat cross-legged on the floor, two sat on the rim of the bathtub. I perched leaning against t he sink, looking at all the eyes on me.  
  
Damien walked to my side, edging past Simon. I pretended to ignore this, but I secretly delighted in Simon's brief pout. I clapped my hands once, then paused dramatically to wheel them in. "Hello everyone. I understand that you all know why we are gathered here this evening."  
  
I started to pace, which was difficult in the small space. Hands clasped behind my back, I easily continued, "To share magic." On that word, I spun around, my hands out for emphasis. "Magic none of you can dream of. You know you want it-You wouldn't have been brought in if it weren't in you. We were highly selective. Your desire is great, and I can-WE can-make it well worth it." Again I paused, and I saw that I had them all dangling off my lips. I smiled. "So now it's time to prove your commitment."  
  
Everyone looked around at that, unsure. Simon gave me a puzzled look, which I glossed over. Surely he could not be expected to learn everything. Where was the fun in that? I gave a mock-surprised shake at their reluctance. "What? Surely I would not tell you anything before I had your complete commitment assured? It's a simple request, really. More of an allegiance to our community, a stand for the quest for magic without restrictions. For answers the powerful should have a right to hold."  
  
Simon who knew me best threw out, "So what is this request of yours?" Damien nodded, also put out from not knowing. I smiled and beckoned Sammy closer. She came up hesitantly. I smiled at her and whispered soothingly, "Don't worry." She looked and me and I saw her trust swell as she relaxed in my arms. It was intoxicating.  
  
I drew my wand around her shoulder, whispering a chant that sounded almost like a lullaby if you said it right. Immediately a glowing figure appeared, a skeleton with a snake protruding from its mouth. Everyone gave muffled screams into their hands, and Sammy's mouth just quivered. No sound came out, and I drew her eyes to mine. I laughed softly, and she giggled back nervously, but her breathing slowed. I released her, and the image disappeared. "See? No pain," I said.  
  
Randy threw up his hand as if in class. "So what exactly is the point of this then, Riddle?"  
  
Simon answered for me, a cool look in his eyes. "It's his calling card, don't you see? Grindelwald has one. But yours does more, doesn't it Tom? You say it, and it summons the symbol so none of us can deny that we are part of this." His arms folded. I knew he was impressed behind his anger. "A nice little anti-squealer device you got there, Tom."  
  
I smiled benevolently. "It's not just that, Simon. It's also a homing device, to get us all together in a hurry."  
  
Simon stared back at me. "And who will be able to do the summoning then? Just you? And what happens if someone doesn't want to be summoned?"  
  
I was getting annoyed. Simon was angry at being snubbed and was now just being difficult. Unfortunately, he made a lot of sense, and those who hadn't a complaint now squirmed. I thought fast. "If someone doesn't want to be summoned, that's their prerogative," I lied. "It's more a safety device, as you said. You know how good I am at those." He gave a grudging snort. I continued, "And you'll be able to use it on me as well-I wouldn't dream of not implanting a control on my first self-created spell." It was true. Simon could cast it on me-if I let him. Neglecting to tell him that part, I extended me arm and goaded him to try it. He did, a bit suspiciously, but then relaxed when the figure appeared burning in my skin.  
  
Everyone else, excited children as they were, began lining up. Simon was at the head of the line, still looking dubious. I gave him a moment's reassurance. "Come on, now, Doubting Thomas." He always liked it when I used references only he usually got.  
  
Sammy must have been studying Muggle history though. She stepped to my side, and pointing to her first-born symbol said coyly, "So does that mean I'm your Eve, then?"  
  
She meant it jokingly, but inwardly I was alarmed. Would she on her own start studying a Muggle religion? But I kept it all inside, outwardly as impassive as always as I answered, "To answer that would be like running to the waiting Devil, would it not?" And I looked into her eyes, then into Simon's, as my wand began to snake it way onto his skin. 


	22. Chapter 22: Do You Hear What I Hear?

**Chapter 22: Do You Hear What I Hear?**

Christmas came in as little ceremonial fashion for me as always. Only this time, I was eagerly anticipating someone. The first of the Death Eaters castings was to take place on this most sacred event. Christmas would serve its purpose for me; it might just be a family event after all. All of the Death Eaters stayed over this holiday. We were the only ones, save a few others, staying over. Everyone else's families were too afraid not to hold their children close. As if geographical closeness would protect them from Grindelwald. Either the parents saw the naivety in the reasoning, or had no reason to fear for their children, or were in too bad a bind to do anything about it. Any of which worked out perfectly.

In fact, a great deal of the faculty was missing as well. Confirmation as to their whereabouts was never given, but it was assumed they were in the resistance. Dumbledore remained, unfortunately, still recovering. His eyes and stance had cleared and strengthened, yet he gave no mention of our encounter in the field. It had slipped either into the unconscious or the unmentionable, which was fine with me. I had too many other things going that demanded my concentration.

Finally the eve arrived. We sat with our respective Houses, careful not to draw attention with unusual inter-House mingling. The air at our table cackled with the electric fire of the gods. We had not even wielded any power, and already some were drunk and woozy off of its mere promise. I doubted it was any different at Ravenclaw, where they sat with the Gryffindors. It wasn't unusual for Ravenclaws and Gryffindors to associate, especially when there were so few to begin with. I smiled as I saw little Annie Weasley try to hold a conversation with her brother, her cheeks flushed with life. She practically radiated anticipation and hope across to me.

Annie was a prize to me. A pet I'd trained. I had picked her myself, much to the disbelief of everyone else. Yet I saw the hunger in her eyes to do something great. She longed to idolize someone besides her elder brother, since she could never emulate his nature. I had gladly filled in the role of mentor in addition to tutor. As she gained confidence in her abilities, she needed tutoring less and less, so I provided different information to her. I had argued with Simon at length about this. It frustrated me to no end, since it really didn't matter to me what he thought. He was too shortsighted to see what I did, wrapped up in pragmatism as he always was. A conversation awhile back flooded my mind.

"She's a GRYFFINDOR, Tom."

"Once again, your powers of observation are boundless." As was our custom, I stared at the mirror, meeting his reflected eyes as he sat behind me.

"Tom, I'm serious. I thought you were serious about this, too. What are you trying to prove, setting a Gryffindor in on us?"

"I'm not trying to prove anything, Simon."

"Like hell. Where do you get off recruiting people we can't trust? None of the other Slytherins will agree to this, and if there's strife within, none of this will work." Simon, the spokesman.

I smiled at him, casting it over my shoulder in the glare of the mirror. "Rather bigoted, if you ask me. To not trust someone simply based on his or her House."

"Right. Why then don't we ask some Mudbloods to join?" Simon stood, walking over to stand behind my shoulder. Our eyes now met at eyelevel, both facing the mirror.

"Funny." My breath came out as fog in my reflection.

"Not really. You're one. Some way to be discriminatory. Why are you so special?"

I broke eye contact at that, spinning slowly to meet his face in flesh. His breath caught on an exhale as I loomed down. "Try doing it without me." Without breathing, he cast his glance down. Yet I knew he felt the smile that spread across my satisfied face. "That's what I thought."

Needless to say, Annie made the ninth Death Eater. My conversation with her had been a dream as well. Just prior to Christmas, we had been studying for finals in the library.

Annie had sighed, slamming her book shut so hard it slid across the table and landed on me. I raised my eyebrows to look at her, and she had blushed deeply. "Sorry, Tom."

I reached down and glanced at the book. "_The Dark Rise: A History of Desire_." I dangled it away from her. "Either this is a very bad romance novel, or it's from the restricted section, if memory recalls."

Annie stuttered, "That's—I mean—well, how do you know if it would be in the restricted section?"

I smiled and slid the book back across to her. "Because I work here in the library sometimes. It's amazing the things one can learn from doing inventory."

"Oh." She hugged the book to herself, biting her lip in thought. Then she glanced shyly up at me. "Would you believe it's for a paper?"

I smiled back. "Would you believe I don't care?"

Her eyes widened. "You, not care about the rules? I mean, it was one thing with the tests, but...I don't know. You always seem so proper."

"Really?" I was quite pleased. It was rare to get an opinion of oneself outside of one's own House. However, my reputation really wasn't the issue here. "But it's just a book, Annie. All knowledge should be free to all who deserve it."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't know if the idea of deserving it came to me...do you think I do?" She sounded concerned.

I folded my hands in front, patiently explaining. "Why did you wish to read this?"

Annie shrugged. "I don't know."

Sternly I said, "I'm going to need a better answer than that. Magic in the restricted section is not to be trifled with."

Taking a deep breath, she offered softly, "Okay. It's just...in Defense class, we were talking about the war that's going on. You know, with Grindelwald. And I was just curious, you know, what could make someone go so...bad..."

"A fair question. I doubt you are the first one to think it." I smiled reassuringly.

"No, but..." Her voice dropped along with her head. I couldn't hear her muttered response.

I was beginning to get annoyed but decided to give her one more chance. "Don't mumble; you have such a pretty voice."

She rolled her eyes, but her morose humility was broken. "You sound like my mother. Anyway, I was just saying...I asked Bill about it. He said that he wondered the same thing at times, but it wasn't for him to know. I asked him why, and he said that some things were restricted for a reason, and he was sure that the school had a reason, even if they wouldn't tell—"

"And that reason wasn't good enough for you."

She looked a bit ashamed, but nodded anyway. Leaning over, I said, "Well, challenging the rules takes bravery. Something your House should be proud of, I would think. At least, a true Gryffindor would be."

"But maybe Bill is right, Tom. I mean, some people aren't deserving – I mean, some people shouldn't read that stuff. Maybe I shouldn't."

"Annie, did you decide on your own against all reason to take the book?"

Annie responded cautiously, "Yes."

I gave her a rewarding nod. "That took conviction. And did you manage to get the book quite easily?"

"I didn't get caught, if that's what you mean."

"It is. That shows cunning, some form of intellect. And do you find your reasons worthwhile?"

A shrug. "I suppose."

"They were." I met her eyes and nodded before counting off, "So determination, intelligence, and good reasoning over unjust rules – sounds fairly deserving to me."

I could see her working this out in her face. "I need to talk to you more often, Tom. You always make things seem so clear...so easy."

"It's good to question yourself, Annie. Just know that, when in doubt, you can always come to me."

She shook her head ruefully. "It still feels wrong though. And I don't know if deserving is the right word—"

"Of course it is. Listen, would you have found out anything if you hadn't worked at it? No, of course not. Therefore, you are deserving over someone who never tries to question anything, who can't think two feet in front for themselves without someone telling them where to go or what to do. They won't be leaders, Annie. And, unfortunately, most schools train for the masses...the followers."

Her eyes fixated on me with a blush. "You think I could be a leader?"

"That is without question. All I wonder is what you would use your abilities for."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, I would never do anything bad or wrong, morally wrong. At least not on purpose—I don't want to hurt people. I couldn't."

"You do realize there is a difference between what is legally considered right and what might be good – or beneficial is a better term."

"No, I know...it's like you said, some rules are there to protect the masses." She was gnawing the bait. "Like, the creation of Polyjuice Potion was illegal for many years because it was considered too dangerous, until someone in secret made a formula that was safe enough. Had he been caught in the process, he might have been arrested."

"And by taking the initiative, great things have been accomplished. Great things, mostly begun in secret to avoid the interference of ignorant hysteria or knowledge falling into the undeserving hands." Solemnly I added, "Motive counts for everything."

"I agree!" She looked relieved, her face flushed and eyes open from happiness. "It feels so good to talk about this...I feel I can say anything to you, and you get it."

I shrugged and said self-deprecatingly, "What can I say? I'm deep."

She persisted, raising her voice enough to where she got some glances. "No, really. Are you just trying to placate me?"

I reached over and took her hand. I had read somewhere that physical contact as such often helped in the building of trust. "No, Annie, I truly understand. As a matter of fact, there are others who do as well..."

"Well! Fancy meeting you here." Sammy had arrived at our table just then, clenching a book under her left arm. A smile was plastered across her face.

I smoothly released Annie's hand and sat back. "Not that fancy. It's a testing week, and we're in the library."

Sammy ignored me, turning to Annie. "So what does he understand?"

Annie flushed and nervously picked at her sleeve before meeting Sammy head on. "About not being proper all the time."

Sammy smiled at me smugly. "No, only proper when it helps, right?" Turning back to Annie, she said loftily, "Sorry if you don't get it; it's more of a Slytherin thing."

"Actually, she gets it quite well." I smiled at Annie. "I'll talk to you later."

"I'd like that. To hear the rest about...the rest."

Annie nodded and began to take off when Sammy called after her, "Wait, you forgot your book from the restricted section." With the same glibness, she tossed it to the flushed Annie, who craned her head to make sure no one had heard.

I shook my head as she left. "Why did you torment her?"

Sammy slid into the seat next to me and raised her eyebrows. "I think the real question is why is Tom Riddle wasting precious studying time holding the hand of a second year Gryffindor?"

"It isn't what you think." I checked to make sure we were alone before whispering, "I'm going to ask her to work with us."

The horror in Sammy's eyes instantly let me know she understood exactly what work. "Are you insane? She's a Gryffin-ape! Remember the trouble you had with Bill, and-and even Dash didn't like them!"

"Liking is beside the point. _Besides…_I think anyone with the right qualities can help us. Bravery and chivalry or whatever aren't bad in themselves. She hasn't been mentored into that condescending, Dumbledore-licking, quintessential Gryffindor way."

"Right... _you _molded her." She was only half joking, and I didn't laugh to clear the air either. She finally sighed and stood, saying stiffly, "Do what you want, Tom. Prove whatever point it is you're trying to."

I stopped her. "You trust me, don't you, Sammy?"

"I do—I know how much this project means to you. It's just frustrating that you don't make sense to us."

Us. "I guess you'll just have to believe in me then." We shared a smile, and all the tension between us dissipated. As she headed out, I threw out casually, "Did you talk to Simon about that? Not understanding me and all."

She hesitated before finally choosing me. "Yes, he brought it up the other day. It made sense then, but – I think he's just upset. I'll talk to him." Her smile widened a bit. "I do trust you."

"Right." I grinned pleasantly, reassuringly, at her. "I'm sure he doesn't mean anything by it." She gave me a fumbled wave goodbye, but not before I saw the name of the book she was carrying, half-concealed. _The Half-blood History: Muggle or Wizard?_

The book was returned the morning of Christmas. That night at dinner I sat with them, waiting for Simon to say something. He knew exactly what he was doing – he had kept the book until it had been too late for me to read it. I had ignored it all these years, knowing the information it contained with a bitter intuition. But if something was going to be thrown in my face, I would have liked to know exactly what it said. Wonderful, pragmatic Simon had thought of that. He sat there calmly, content with whatever power he thought he held.

Perhaps some of it had been my fault. I had let him annoy me over my Dark Mark, one in a series of protests from him over the year. Worse, I had let that show, and the old rivalry had flared. I could not have cared less if I had hurt his feelings. All I wanted was a reasoned way around him. I should have known that once unsatisfied he would leap at the chance to yank me down. We played that game the same.

All through dinner, the silence between Simon and I reigned. It was only when the clock chimed nine and one by one the giddy members filed nonchalantly out the hall, that I pulled Simon aside. He followed easily, smiling back at me.

"Simon, might I have a word with you?"

"Of course, Tom," he said pleasantly. "But we should hurry to the girls' lavatory. Sammy promised to get Myrtle out of there...get Sophie lost or something. It's wonderful how no one uses that space because Myrtle is always crying in there. We should toast her or something. Conjure her up a Kleenex."

"Only if things go smoothly tonight. I would hate to see anything interfere with the resurrection of Salazar. Wouldn't you?" I spoke with the same tight-lippedness as he responded.

"Of course not. I plan on things going quite smoothly. Don't you?" With a fair smirk, he strode before me. I took a deep breath. My hands shook a little even as I reminded myself that Simon was mostly playing by ear as well. I could handle Simon; I always had. But, I thought grimly, he had learned some things as well. Unfortunately, from me.

A lavatory had never seemed so majestic. The first time we had met in there, a suggestion from Sammy and Olivia, it had looked quite depressing. The mirror had stains that were beginning to stick, moisture was accumulating on the floor, and one of the doors was scratched. I really didn't want to know what the girls had done in here. Sammy insisted over my protests that I had to know it was all from Moaning Myrtle.

Everyone had their stations, chosen by the members in the beginning of the year. Olivia, Gordon, and Jerome sat on the floor across from the circle of sinks. Sammy and Randy stood casually behind them, leaning on secure stall doors. I stood in the center, flanked by Simon and Damien. When Annie finally arrived, a bit out of breath, she paused in the doorway. Glancing about, she finally slunk down on the floor next to Olivia, as far from Sammy as she could.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. Part of me had been hoping Annie wouldn't show, since I knew what was coming. The other part of me was dead proud of my choice. Even Snicks showed up. He hissed a soft greeting from the corner of the room, hidden in a crack. I smiled at him, relieved for his presence.

Behind me were the ingredients. I reached back and began, "Everyone, tonight we accomplish what others only dream." I paused, glancing around. Simon met my eye and smiled innocently back. Ignoring him, clenching my hands behind me to calm them, I continued. "We are the select few. Those who see what needs to be done, what can be done, and who have the bravery, the intellect, the cunning, to achieve it. That is why we are all here. Before our differences divided us, but now those individual strengths join to create immortality."

"Nicely said, Tom. Very nice sentiments." Simon's voice slid over mine, floating in the air. Most eyes snapped to him in annoyance, for everyone's nerves fought any sign of interruption. But Simon looked only at me as he continued. "Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to personally apologize. I think that your reasoning for including the other Houses is completely sound."

Of course. "Thanks, Simon. Now if I could continue..."

"I mean, at first, I thought it was just empathy on your part."

"Empathy?" Jerome cut in curiously.

"Right. You know, or remember, that Riddle himself goes against what Salazar believed. But that isn't important, so I'm not going to say he wouldn't be included as well, if it were run by old-school Slytherin mentality. I'm not going to talk about that, because what is important is that Tom has come up with good reasoning for including you all. We won't talk about the possible empathy and its implications anymore." As a stir was created, Simon raised his head at me and mouthed, "Cicero."

His smugness was intolerable, and over the rubble I gave him a jaunty salute with a cold, "Touché." The commotion increased, and I ran my tongue over my dry lips, thinking quickly.

I could feel Sammy quietly staring at me. I highly doubted she had been unaware of what had happened. Not that I could blame her; Simon could be quite convincing as well. And he was right. I went against the very ideology Salazar admired. Shame once again infused throughout me. I had to come up with some answers, something concrete, for them as well as myself.

"What is he talking about?"

"Tom's past, dummy – his dad."

"Oh right, he's that Muggle—I forgot that –"

"He left him, you know—he was left by a Muggle."

"Stop it!" I couldn't help it. My angry voice rang out, followed by a deathly silence. The air was almost too thick to breathe, what with Simon's swelling satisfaction. I breathed deeply, ignoring the droplets of sweat that formed everywhere. I felt shaky, but I didn't dare grasp the sink for support. I forced my eye to meet each and every one, a smile as calm as the bile inside was burning.

"As Simon so eloquently said, this is beside the point. However, I have no problem addressing it, though I do want to thank Simon for his concern over putting me through this." I slowly turned to face Simon, instinctively curling up my lips. "I know you were only acting out of the goodness of your heart. Don't worry. I will try to repay your kindness, Simon."

Simon gulped unconsciously as I turned back. "I never knew my father. Supposedly, he was a Muggle...the worst kind of Muggle. I mean, how else could it be explained that I wound up in a Muggle orphanage? My mother was a Slytherin...she died in childbirth."

I saw the winces and felt anger. She wouldn't want their pity, and I would make that clear. "But she is the only person who claimed me...who named me. Gave me a wizard name, Marvolo. I was forced to take up Riddle – she was forced to use it, I'm sure. As such, she is the only person I claim as my parent."

Breathing came easier, and the words flowed. "Slytherin objected to those who embrace the Muggle parentage, the Muggle heritage. Those who ignorantly adhere to a group of people who cast off their spouses with a word, who ignore their children in a blink. The ideals of the Muggles aren't limited to them, I'm afraid. There are plenty of wizards alive who are also misled."

Clearly, emphatically, I stated, "I do not honor such ideals. I do not honor my father. I pledge my allegiance wholeheartedly to my mother and what she believed in, which was Salazar." Turning to Simon, I boldly added, "I claim Salazar as my father." Little did he know how close to the truth that was.

Simon remained silent as Annie stood up cautiously and said, "I think he would claim you too, Tom." I saw most nod in support of her, and I smiled weakly. At least they were accepting her. Suddenly Snicks hissed to me a warning.

I quickly called out, "Everyone! I think I hear someone coming! Quick, get out!" We hurriedly filed out the door. Once outside, we tried to look as inconspicuous as possible while Dumbledore and Myrtle walked over. They looked suspiciously at us.

I smiled brightly at them. "Off to a late night study session. What seems to be the problem?" I tried to look concerned and innocent.

Dumbledore sighed – gasped, since he still had some difficulty breathing. "Myrtle has been informing me about some respiratory and skin troubles she says she has developed. She seems to think it comes from this lavatory, since she… inhabits it quite frequently. None of the other girls do, and they haven't any symptoms."

_Neither,_ I thought dryly, _does Myrtle, I bet._ That little hypochondriac was costing us our space.

Dumbledore continued. "So I am closing it for the remainder of the year."

"What! You're listening to that?" Sammy burst out.

We all had to duck our heads to avoid laughing as Dumbledore said, "Madame Drawt agrees."

"Sure, just to get Moaning Myrtle off her back," Damien hissed under his breath through a fake smile.

"Anyway, I'm going in to see if it's a Roving Skink, because they can cause such symptoms. Otherwise, it is probably a mold, and the room must be closed to be magically fumigated over the summer," Dumbledore finished.

He began to head for the door when I suddenly realized no one had taken out the supplies. Panicked I called out, "Wait!"

Dumbledore stopped and turned. Warily he asked, "Yes, Tom? What is it?"

"It's just…" I looked at the other Death Eaters, but they were all still as stone. Taking a deep breath, I hurriedly lied, "Well, you are just getting over being sick, sir. Perhaps I should go and check for the skink."

Dumbledore waved me off. "Nonsense, though I appreciate how much concern you have. You have not dealt with these before. And I assure you, I am quite well."

I cut in front of him, placing myself before the door and offering my most angelic smile. "But I've read all about them, sir. Ask me anything. And I know you are fine; that's why I should go. We couldn't bear to see you fall ill again." Taking out my wand, I said reassuringly, "I promise to disable it and to be careful."

"Oh, yes, sir. Tom can handle it," Simon cut in quickly. I gave him a nod. When it was both our necks facing expulsion, we were quick allies.

Dumbledore looked curiously at me, and then said, "Very well, Tom. But if it is big or you need help, call for me. I will be right here." I was surprised he agreed, and didn't exactly enjoy the look in his eyes.

I tipped my wand at him. "Of course, sir." Then I opened the door and slipped inside. Breathing heavily, I leaned over the sink. Every emotion possible was smashing through me, leaving me faint and nauseous.

Snicks slid over to me, comfortingly resting around my wrist. I gripped the sink, looking at myself through the stains on the mirror. My pale skin was clammy, with shadows and gaunt planes. My dark hair shone even in the dim candlelight as I turned this way and that. Thoughts ran through me almost as fast as the emotions. Damn Myrtle...she should just live in the bloody toilet. We were so close...I could have called Salazar. Seen if he claimed me as I had done secretly in my heart for years. That yearning was all that remained of my heart that I could tell.

Gazing, my tired, red eyes stared back, blurred from the effort of living. Did I look like him? The other Tom Riddle? Could Salazar even stand the sight of me and what I had become? Could I ever properly repay Simon, with his dirty blood running through me? 

My fingers gripped the edges of the basin, as taunt and pale as my face. I could feel myself about to burst and deflate at the same time. Snicks playfully bit my knuckle as he always did when I was ill-looking, and I hissed at him, a slow exhale through my teeth. While glancing down at the reddened patch on my hand, my eyes caught sight of emblems upon the taps. Staring harder at them, a finger of mine reached out of its own accord to trace the winding design…

_~ blood… ~_

I whipped my head up, spinning around the room. Some voice, drenched in fury and lust, ethereally called out to me. I feared Dumbledore, the Skink... my sanity. The voice whispered through me, and I glanced wildly at Snicks, who looked as frightened and confused as I. His tongue whipped about frantically, trying to detect the other presence.

_~…not… here… ~___

The hunger I heard developed a presence. A focus drew me in, scaling out any reality outside of the chilling voice and myself. I found myself calling back, hissing to the voice. ~What blood? ~ 

In its response, the voice grew louder…

_~ Yours… and theirs… to create and…cleanse… ~_

~Create what? ~

_~ Your destiny… and his…~_

~My destiny? You mean Salazar's? ~

_~ Yes… your call, your readiness… has brought about the time. Has awakened me…~_

~Then what are you? ~

_~A link…~_

~A link between us? ~

_~ Between you and your legacy… ~_

~The legacy...Salazar's legacy~

_~ The blood legacy… the Chamber of Secrets… ~_


	23. Chapter 23: The Chamber of Secrets

**Chapter 23: The Chamber of Secrets**

I spent the summer at Hogwarts again, though time revolved differently this time around. I no longer looked forward to the next month that would bring new classes. Rather, every second I only yearned for the dark edge of night to befall. While cleaning up the gardens with Wynn, I took note of what supplies I might find. During stacking books for Dippet or experimenting with Zwipp I located every trick or spell I had not yet tried. And then, finally, the shadows of evening would fall. Dippet would retire first, followed by Zwipp, though he sometimes liked to go to his lab in the middle of the night. Dumbledore stayed up the latest, playing chess or wandering the halls talking with the ghosts. And I would wait.

When the last ray of light had sunk, I would creep off my bed and follow the chilled hallways to my sanctuary. My steps echoed in my ears, a hollow sound that became more rapid the closer I got. The bathroom itself no longer looked pitiful and misused. Rather it had a ancient beauty, holding such secrets that I was amazed no one else picked up in the scent of air. It smelled differently here. The perfume of comfort and belonging would envelope my lungs as the ground before me opened. And there below, everything in it was mine.

I had never had a present before. Presents are gotten when one is appreciated. When one belongs, and is desired and thanked for existing. But now I had all of that.

My grandfather wanted me. No, it was not simple want. He wanted me, and knew I was to exist. He knew that my destiny was intertwined with his, and he not only accepted that, he planned on it. I had proven myself, and let his blood eradicate whatever plague my father had added. Salazar had counted on my being able to do that when he had made the Chamber all those years ago. He knew that I was to come, and he had made preparations for my homecoming. And now I was welcomed into it. Not as Tom Riddle, but as the Slytherin I had made myself. Salzar had made himself, and I would do the same. I would become his worthy heir, and carry out his legacy. I would bring Lord Voldemort to life.

I practiced every night, every spell I could find and some I created myself. I practiced on rats, bugs, whatever I could pick out of the garden or forest. The Basilisk watched me, yellow eyes shining brightly. Eyes that only I could see. She would look in my eyes with the soul lust to do what I said. Our goal was the same. ~Soon~ I promised her.

There in the chamber, my voice echoed up the stone walls, tinny, cold and hard. It sounded strange and I sang out at times, just to hear the difference. The sound of my voice had gained strength and edge, both from age and confidence. It would sound low and melodious, or hard as ice, depending on my whim. Each nuanced tone could have a different effect on spells. I learned how to control that. I learned how to control each and every spell when I was sick, when I was exhausted, when I was infuriated and frustrated or calmly content. I learned that I could control it all.

I was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall one night when school was about to begin. The plan for the new school year was always clinging to my consciousness. I was impatiently watching the fake sunset in the magicked ceiling when a voice pierced my thoughts.

"Pardon?" I turned to find Dumbledore standing beside me and groaned internally. Since his accident we had kept a respected distance, but his eye was always about me lately. I finally found out why.

"Are you feeling well, Tom?" Dumbledore asked slowly.

I nodded with a wide smile. "Yes, sir. Wonderful. You?"

"Oh, I'm fine. It's just that your eyes looked a little red." Dumbledore's voice carried a bit too much weight for my liking.

I thought quickly. "Just tired, sir. Lots of school planning has to be done. Hazard of being a prefect, I suppose."

Dumbledore looked suspicious, but relented. "They actually seem a lot clearer than they were a second ago. Odd."

I shrugged. So what if my eyes were bloodshot? He seemed to be making too much out of this, even for him. "I have a cold, sir. It comes and goes."

"Perhaps you should see Madame Drawt." He offered a small smile to me at that. "We cannot have one of our prefects not up to snuff."

"Right, sir. I'll get on that. Better turn in early as well. Goodnight." I stood and left the dining hall. I made my way down into the dungeon. The Slytherin rooms were quiet and cold, as always. I entered the bathroom and studied myself in the mirror. I didn't think I looked any more tired than usual. I squinted, and still couldn't figure out what redness could have caused Dumbledore such alarm. I finally shrugged, and walked out into the bedroom. Maybe I was just getting too used to seeing myself spent. I had been spending every night in the Chamber. I couldn't remember sleeping in days. I made a mental note to pick up some more pepper-up potion from Drawt's cabinets.

As I left the room I noticed Snicks curled on my bed. He hissed a soft greeting, which I returned. After a moment's hesitation I asked him, "Do you notice anything funny looking about me?"

"Thatsss too easy," Snicks hissed back. Then seeing I was serious, he flipped his tongue and responded, "No, not that I can tell."

I frowned. "All right, thanks." I turned to go when Snicks hissed a request to join me. I shrugged and waited for him to crawl up my shoulder before we descended into my chamber. Upon entering I stood transfixed again, as I had for so many hours in quiet enchantment.

Mere words cannot describe it, so I made the promise to myself never to try. Not that I would ever share this secret with anyone. It was too precious, too hard won for any to possibly properly appreciate it. So in that sense, words would not be necessary.

No, none could appreciate this. Certainly not any of the Mudbloods who didn't realize how cursed they were. They would never be able to fight against what they were, like I had. Worse, they had no desire to. They looked down on purebloods, looked down on Slytherin. On my ancestry. No, Muggles had never given me anything but the shame and revile to have ever existed with them. Now that I had overcome that, I could put the shame to rest and prove my worth. Soon.

The other Slytherins couldn't fathom the potential of the chamber either. The legacy that vibrated underneath the rock, the sweat and blood and hatred and soul and unbinding passion and retribution that cried out to me. The years of dust caught onto my robes, each grain a piece of a story that unfolded as I grew in strength. No one could have understood, have bared the anguish and harnessed it. Only the Heir. I was beyond them in ways that paled classroom grades and silly facts into oblivion.

The mere presence of the Chamber empowered my being. I could feel the very blood in my veins become cleansed, pure. I could practice whatever I wanted, as long as I wanted. There was no master in the Chamber but me. No mention of Muggles, no notions of right or rules or shame or guilt. There was nothing but the power to behold, to control and know. It was pure, and it was beautiful and exciting. And it was within me. And soon, they would all know it. I would prove it to them, just as Salazar had done. Only, I would succeed.

"Tom?" The sound of word, the way it rolls off the roof of one's mouth, with the dull click of the tongue against the back of the salivated teeth sent shivers of bile through me.

"That name does not exist here." I could not say it didn't have meaning. It had been the constant plague on my seed, had helped me see clearly what I was against. What had kept me from my heritage for so long, what I had had to prove myself against. It embodied everything I reviled. It was a name I would not speak in my family Chamber. Just as I would make the Toms of the world never be able to speak my name in their safe, warm homes someday.

"I am Lord Voldemort." I turned to face Snicks, his hissing becoming rattled.

Sliding back against the shadowed cave, he hissed a choking reply. "Tom......you asssked about your lookssss. There isss ssssomething wrong.... Ssssomething very wrong..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Tom...your eyessss..."

"What?"

Snicks's yellow eyes burned fear into my face. "They...are red...your eyes... are bleeding..."

"What?" I turned from him, placing a fingertip up to my face. My trembling finger came away with a drop of blood, striking against the pale skin. My heart almost stopped and I turned to race out of the chamber when I heard her.

_~Do not fear. ~_

I turned to her, my beautiful gift. She was brilliant, a shining green Basilisk seeming miles long, with eyes that glowed brighter than stars and will more depth than Hufflepuffs. Slowly I approached her. ~What is happening to me? ~

_~You are being purified. ~_

~Purified?~

_~Your body is being purged of all that has infected your blood, your body, your soul. Being perfected, in the image worthy of Salazar.~_

~But how? ~

_~By your mere thoughts, now. The awakening of Salazar in your blood has begun. The more you focus on your heritage, on your role, the more you become it. ~_

~But........~

_~The bleeding will not continue forever. Once you have rid yourself of all weaknesses, no blood will flow. The blood will only rest in your eyes, the windows to the world of your connection as the Heir. Whenever your will commands it, the blood will flow and your connection to your power will rise. Power is from within, and rises out. It is in your blood. ~_

Salzar had given me the blood. I had made myself the will. I was ready to let them flow over the world.

The new school year started out on a bleak day. I was glad that I was already at Hogwarts and did not have to suffer the train ride in the rain. Instead, I set up the Great Hall with Wynn and Professor Vallandora.

"So, Tom, you're a prefect this year. Who would have guessed?" Vallandora teased me as she floated some ribbons to the ceiling. Dippet thought making a grander opening service might reduce some of the fears in the new students over being separated from their parents during such a trying time. Grindelwald had claimed most of Austria, and France was the next target.

"Yes, Ma'am. It should be an exciting challenge." My mind was still on Grindelwald. I wondered if any other professors would leave to join the resistance. I wasn't lucky enough for Dumbledore to go. Zwipp felt he was doing more good by nurturing the future generation of the resistance. I personally thought he was just protecting himself, but who could blame him? And Binns, well, that man was just an inch away from death it seemed. I wondered if I would notice if he did die during a lecture. He was so dull it would be hard to tell.

Vallandora must have been thinking of Grindelwald as well, though more than likely in a different context. She seemed sad as she magicked another plant to change colors to match the Gryffindor table. "It's good you expect it to be a challenge, Tom. With the way things are, those poor children are going to be so worried about their families and Grindelwald, and on top of adjusting to a new environment."

"I assure you, I already have plans to distract them. I've been working on it all summer." I smiled at her.

She grinned back and patted my shoulder. "I know you have, Tom. I expected nothing less from you."

"And not just for Slytherin. I want to get the whole school involved." Wynn motioned for me to help him move a table, the Muggle way. I gritted my teeth and followed suit, though why he didn't just let Vallandora and I do it more efficiently I will never know.

"Oh, I think that's a brilliant idea. Dumbledore will love it." Vallandora's eyes lit up with pleasure.

"You think? I am hoping he will appreciate it. Especially when it's implemented."

Vallandora, waving the last of the flowers a shining gold, replied, "Oh, I'm sure he will. I won't ask what it is, though. I want it to be a surprise."

"I shall do my best." And with a humble glance, I helped Wynn clear the last debris as we heard the new class approach.

"Thomas, how horribly unchivalristic of you to leave me alone on the train! As a prefect I couldn't very well talk to those who aren't a prefect on the train, it isn't tradition. And the rest of the prefects are horrid. I was horribly bored." If you couldn't tell, the other new Slytherin prefect was Sammy. We were now seated in the Great Hall, waiting for the sorting to be over.

"Is there any reason I can give you that you'll accept?" I asked.

She folded her arms. "Absolutely none."

"Fine. Then I guess I just can apologize." I gave her one of the silver flowers that floated in vases all across the table.

She took it and immediately discarded it, saying, "Good, I was hoping you'd apologize because I have some incredible news that I desperately wanted to tell you. I would have told you on the train, but....."

"I said I was sorry."

"Already forgotten. I just like to hear men apologize."

"How Rosie the Riviter of you." I had to smile though. I was in good enough spirits to find her amusing rather than tiresome right now.

"Slogan for women's labor movement this year in Mudbloodtown. Ha, thought I wouldn't know that one." She sounded smug.

"Not really. It's been in the wizard world newpapers, too. Since Grindelwald started moving in on Muggles, and their own eugenic war going on, Muggle stories have been creeping into our papers. Still, a worthy effort." I saluted her with my glass.

"My father charms all stories about Muggles out the paper so he won't have to read it and be sick, he says. So it wasn't that easy to get a hold of the news." She was defensively raising her voice.

"Ah, now I understand. That was quite an accomplishment over the summer then. And it's good that you did. All history is important to know."

"I think so. I'm glad you agree." Her eyes were alight with herself.

"Absolutely. Now, the news?" I leaned over, trying to get her back on track. The Sorting was almost over and then we would have to get back to work.

"Oh, right." She leaned over and began to whisper conspiratorially. "There's a secret order being implemented against Grindelwald."

"Obviously not so secret," I said.

"Shut up. Anyway, I only know because I eavesdropped on my father during one if his meetings. A mole of Grindelwald's found out about it, and it's called The Pheonix Order, or something like that."

"Something like that."

"I couldn't hear properly."

"You should have used an audible charm. Just for reference, for you in the future. Please go on."

"Well, you'll never guess whose pretty much in charge of it."

"Dumbledore."

"How'd you know? You take the fun out of everything."

"I'm sorry. He has a phoenix. Was I really right? How uncreative. Rather obvious and stupid if you ask me."

Her voice dropped lower as we got a few glances. "Well, I'm not sure about the details. Only that there is an order against Grindelwald, and Dumbledore is a key player."

"And yet he remains here." My mind was reeling.

"I wondered the same thing, but then I figured it out." She pointed at me. "You."

I was taken aback for a moment. "Me?"

"Come on, Thomas!" She began to count off on her fingers, "Grindelwald talked to you. He tried to recruit you. Hell, he tried to kill you. That doesn't show a lack of interest."

"Why would Dumbledore's remaining here revolve around me? There are other students to protect." I reasoned.

She grinned at me evilly. "You tell me."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Fine, don't tell me. I'll figure it out. You're not THAT big a riddle." She smirked in good nature, but it left me feeling a pit in my stomach. If Grindelwald was after me, this was a sign that he would soon step up his attacks. If I wanted to bring about Salazar's legacy, I would have to work quickly.

The meal soon after ended. There was no one remarkable worth noting. As we stood I was about to call the first years to order when a small figure stopped me. I turned and saw Annie Weasley at my elbow.

She was carrying a small bag that she kept shifting from hand to hand. Giving me a nervous grin, she said, "Hi."

I smiled down at her. "Hello, Annie. Have a nice summer?"

"_Oh,_ oh yes. Really nice. We couldn't travel much, because.......well, you know. Grindelwald. Not that he will be in power for long, right? Soon he'll be eating death."

At that Sammy spun around and hissed, "Shut up you idiot! Honestly." She gave a look.

I cleared my throat and said patiently, "Annie, was there something you came over for?"

She blushed and said, "Oh, yes. Well, I wanted to know how your summer went. Being here, and all."

"It was most productive."

"Really? That's good. I guess I'll be going then. I just... also... erm, wanted to congratulate you on being made prefect. I think that you deserve it."

"Thank you." She was clearly stalling.

"And... and well, for congratulations..." As she rambled she thrust into my hands a small, black covered book. It appeared to be a diary. "And I just stumbled over it and picked it up......"

I turned it over in my hands. "It has my name printed on it."

Sammy laughed as Annie flushed. "Well… yes, I did have that done... but I did just find it... not that it's reused, but... it wasn't expensive, or anything. It was just.......a thank you for helping me and a congratulations. That's all. I don't know if you have time to write in it, but..."

I closed it and looked at her. She did look pitiful, all lost and flustered. And she normally was fairly well spoken. I hadn't realized what an effect I had on her. After a moment I let her out of her misery. "You never know. I've never had a diary before. Thank you." Though far from the best gift I had ever been given, it was sweet in a simple way. An interesting choice. She must have thought about it a great deal. What a way to spend her free time.

Sammy watched her flee. "Pathetic."

"Jealous?" I grinned at her.

Sammy rolled her eyes at that. "Oh yes, Thomas. I have been given diamonds by seventh years, but secretly I crave nothing more than an underclassman's drooled over pawns."

"It's the thought that counts."

"You do realize that she only gave you that because she is totally enraptured with you."

"That's the thought I was talking about. Now, let's get this new class moving, shall we?"

I let Sammy make most of the announcements to the new class. The older prefects had already left; it was the newbies task to deal with the first years. My mind was on the night.

"... and isn't that right Thomas?" Sammy turned to me just then, breaking my dream.

"What?" I asked her.

"I was saying..."She then squinted at me. "Thomas, are you all right? Your eyes look red…"

I sucked in my breath and quickly averted my head. I had let my thoughts overtake me. Cursing myself, I quickly recovered, "Just imagining when OWLS are, so I knew when to send these fine first years to you for help." Turning to them I said conspiratorially, "She gets very cranky if she's interrupted studying. So I recommend doing it often."

"Oh, just be quiet and leave. I'll finish up with them." She sounded cross.

I winked at the first years and mouthed, "Mission accomplished." They all laughed, and I hurried away as Sammy whipped around in confusion.

I entered the bathroom and breathed heavily. It was a struggle, to slip from one focus to another. To have the power but harness it only at the right times. But I was not weak, I could handle my heritage. My eyes had retuned to normal, but I had to be more careful. The power was intoxicating........but I could control it. I could. I would. For soon, I would purge the last of…_ it... out of me._

The hallways are never fully dark. With all the windows at Hogwarts, moonlight was an ever-present friend at night. And I shed blood tears all the way along it, calling forth my tool of purification. And she came.

Into the halls we went, her skin luminescent in the light of the moon. I walked ahead, to find a target to call her to as she slithered into the pipes. It was not simple blood we craved. It was the fear that made it boil. That made it weak. And those who could not withstand it, who could not withstand what they had put me through, would pay.

And then the footsteps came in a patter. They were hurried and light, and I craned to see to whom they belonged. To see if it was a person properly worthy of the blinding light. A fate I would determine.


	24. Chapter 24: Enemies of the Heir, Beware

**Chapter 24: Enemies of the Heir, Beware**

The hurried little patter of steps increased in volume. Breath caught in my throat as I waited for the maker of that noise to step into the luminescent moonlight cascading through the windows. A muttered noise flitted through the air, followed by a pause, and then she appeared.

Cradling the wall, she was positioned before a mirror, which radiated an aura of bluish moonlight around her. The rise and fall of her breast as she sucked in gasps of air, the tight white spaces drawn around her bloodless lips...I took it all in. Myrtle had lost her little charge.

"My Precious? Where are you? Oh, I have to get back, but I couldn't leave you lost in the castle. Somebody's pet might eat you...and no one would go with me. I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't just leave you...Precious? Maybe I should have asked Myrtle to come again...Come on, baby, come to mommy...come out, Precious..."

Sophie groped blindly, her shaky hand reaching for the wall. Nothing was entering those eyes, but they emitted a fear like none other. I could only imagine the terror she felt. She couldn't face her fears. She was left in the thralls of her imagination, not knowing what might creep up on her in a magical castle late at night.

I almost called out to her, but I was too transfixed. It was both a sad and beautiful sight. Glorious because, even in her terror, she held a power beyond that of any other, barring me. Her very failing was her greatest strength. Her blindness made her immune to the Basilisk's stare. Of course, it also prevented her from protecting herself from something as simple as my foot stuck in her path. Even if there wasn't a lesson in this, it was an amusing little paradox.

Slowly I approached her, encircling her with my step. Every inch of her slight body was on edge, her senses alight as if expecting prey… or fearing to fall prey. She froze, sensing my presence.

"Hello? Is someone there?" She reached out, and I danced silently out of her grasp.

Unconsciously a smile crept over me. There was nothing courageous about her now. Nothing I was seeing was worthy of respect, from her fumbling hands to her frail voice. Her handicap was a liability beyond pride, no matter what Dumbledore tried to preach to everyone. Her brow furrowed, and she reached out again, almost tripping.

I don't know how long the game could have gone on, but it ended with the interruption of further pattering. This time, a small ball of fur followed, sniffling curiously around the corner. It was small and timid. I guessed it was Precious.

Sophie must have heard the faint jangling of the dog's tags, for she called out again. Precious lagged a moment, eyeing me suspiciously before beginning to approach her master. Sophie's face gleamed in the light, as if she had triumphed over some great obstacle. Finding a ball of fur that was only a few halls away from the Ravenclaw common room...yes, no doubt that would be a great source of pride for her over the years to come.

I am sure most people would have been simply astonished with her accomplishment. However, I only thought it fit to give her a chance to do something really worthy of others' wonder and her own deep pride. Hissing, I called for my Basilisk.

At the sound of the hissings, both mine and those descending from the pipes, her intensity returned. She stood coiled, ready to flee, completely immobile, as the Basilisk slowly descended. She stood motionless as it approached in sinuous darts, the noise of its scales sliding across the smooth stone increasing measurably. There she stood, rooted to the ground, as her Precious caught sight of the large serpent in the mirror behind her, eyes glowing so bright that all but Sophie could see. And then her Precious was as still as she.

I sent the Basilisk away, praising her work as I crouched to examine the scene. Precious lay there Petrified, as her mistress got her legs back. Without breathing any less silently than I, she approached her pet. Her foot hit something, and with wide eyes she slowly knelt down, tracing her fingers over the body. She felt her baby's ears, long and shaggy. She stroked the fur, now cold. She jingled the tags, a sound Precious had made every time she approached her mistress when called, and without fail.

And in repayment to the loyalty her pet had given her unto death, Sophie paused, wheezed in air, and ran off with a silent shriek. Her voice failed in the fear that gripped her, and she just fled down the hall in a direction that would keep her away from finding anyone for hours.

Now it was Precious and I that were still. I looked down at the shell. That tiny clump, whose eyes now reflected no life within, stared back soullessly. Indeed, why would her spirit remain if she had been abandoned so by the one she trusted?

I walked over to her, softly speaking. "There, there, girl. I think she failed the test, don't you?" I got no response. "Don't worry... at least you found out your true place with her. And never fret... I will give your past existence more meaning than she ever could."

Leaning over, I gently slit the small belly beneath the fur. The red dampness dripped onto my fingers, bright against the light of the moon. A strange laugh, a hollow voice, gripped my lungs. "You saw... you don't have much to live for anyway."

~*~

I reentered the Slytherin rooms, awash with sensation. I was highly aware of the warm wetness on my hand, which was cradled against my dark robe to prevent any telltale spilling. While sight may have failed little Sophie, fear had certainly shone through her eyes tonight. It had leaped into my being, a tingling wash. So utterly helpless and vulnerable… she had faced death and run away from it, run in terror and left a helpless creature to suffer the consequences of her weakness. The guilt she would carry from her failure tonight would haunt her worse than any fate the Basilisk might have dealt.

I stayed in the common room until I could come down from my giddy lightheadedness. My meld with the Basilisk, the ultimate power I held at my command, left me with a high inebriation. So I sat, until the blood stopped leaking from my eyes. Until the drunken daze left me stone cold, sober, and exhausted. The tremors of adrenaline gave way to tremblings of exhaustion and shivers from freezing. I was still learning my depths, still growing in my mastery of control. But I had waited for years to prove my readiness for this process.

I finally collapsed in bed after quietly washing up. I barely remember closing my eyes before someone with sharp nails began violently tearing me back to consciousness.

"Thomas! Riddle... come_ on, _get up!"

Moaning at the hiss, I groggily turned and saw the hazy image of Sammy form before me. My voice thick, I croaked, "Sammy, what the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Morning to you, too." Throwing my blanket off me, she continued, "Something is up. I just got an emergency owl to go meet in Dippet's office. All the prefects have. Our bloody window was open, so I got the note for both of us. Now come on, let's go!"

Sitting up, I rubbed my face, trying to comprehend what she was saying. "What?"

"How articulate you are this morning. Move it!" She planted herself at the foot of my bed, hissing as the other boys called out in sleepy protest to the racket she was making.

"Fine, fine, I'm getting up," I mumbled as I stumbled out of bed. I stood for a moment, dazed, as Sammy kept tapping her foot. Irritably, I turned to her and said, "I am not changing with you standing here!"

"Prude." Sammy rolled her eyes and left. I hurriedly dragged on clothing, my limbs feeling heavy and numb. I had immersed myself too fully last night, leaving me little resources now. I could guess what this meeting was about.

"Hurry _up_!" I heard Sammy bellow.

Clenching my jaw, I whispered loudly back, "I can't find my white shirt!"

"Oh, for the love of... I'm coming back in; I'll help," she called, just as I found it.

"That's okay. I—" My words drifted off as I noticed a slight stain of blood remaining on the sleeve. I hurriedly balled it up as Sammy approached curiously.

"Well, put it on then," she said, pointing at the shirt I held.

I thought fast. "I can't. I thought it was mine, but it's Randy's. He's always leaving things on my side." That was true. I was always tripping over his books and packages from home.

"Oh." Sammy couldn't have cared less. Puffing up her badge-studded chest, she beckoned me over like a child with her hand outstretched. "I don't think they'll notice you're in your pajama shirt if you just fasten your robe. They'll be more upset if we're late. Come on."

"All right," I muttered. Grasping the prefect badge gleaming on my desk, I hurried after her.

The meeting went as expected. Dippet, Dumbledore, Zwipp... they were all so predictable. My breath caught in the beginning, as Dippet began to give a vague outline to the anxious and confused prefects. A student had been wandering the hall at night looking for a lost pet, when she ran into something.

I couldn't help it. "Did she see anything?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, all she heard was hissing. Then... her pet was found. She thought it was dead, so she ran... nothing happened to her, but when she and the pet were found..." His voice trailed off for a moment, before awkwardly finishing, "The pet had been Petrified... that is a magical condition which renders the victim paralyzed. But it had also been... drained... with its blood used to write on the walls."

Everyone drew in gasps.

"Poor girl," one of the Hufflepuff prefects moaned in sympathy.

"Poor dog," Sammy snapped back. "She just left it?"

Ignoring them, I turned to Dumbledore and asked innocently, "What was written?"

Pausing, Dumbledore looked each professor and prefect in the eye before saying, "The Chamber Has Been Opened. Enemies of the Heir, Beware."

Whispers echoed throughout the halls for weeks to come. I refused to give up my work, though I exercised as much caution as possible. Several students, with white faces and trembling limbs, swore they kept hearing noises. My heart clenched only momentarily at this, before realizing I had far more discretion than they brain capacity. Dippet and Dumbledore had been silent over many of the details, just warning us prefects to be especially careful with our charges. I highly suspected that, rather than being the result of a clever plan to catch the killer by finding out who knew too much, it was because they were too lost to give any real information. A strange thrill rang through me with every whisper. Part of me wanted to cry out with my power, to rub it in the faces of all. But my time would come, and I had larger things to think about.

I had made my condolences to Sophie. Her empty eyes had tilted up at the cadence of my voice, her cool hand resting upon my cheek. Slowly her fingers traced my face, the skin tightening in turn. She had given me a weak smile then, in a trembling voice, saying, "Don't be afraid…"

I nearly sneered at that, forcing down any remark and willing my facial muscles to relax. The darkening corridors signaled dusk was falling. The air held a slight chill, and I said, "Never that. But I should be going… you should as well. It's cold out." I turned, but her small hand stopped me.

"You always feel cold. Or, at least, every time I've touched you…" Her eyes crinkled, and I had to remind myself she couldn't see…she_ hadn't_ seen. "Almost stiff to touch, too, yet you sound relaxed. I like a puzzle…" Her face melted, displaying soft emotion so blindingly blatant, though she spoke as if challenging. "I like you, Tom Riddle. Thank you for your condolences." Hesitatingly, she reached up and slowly pressed her lips against my cheek, softness crushing in against the hard marble of my jaw line.

Instinctively I pressed her away, hardening my gaze, distancing myself from her immediate sphere. A small moan escaped her as she almost stumbled, her soft voice questioning, "Tom, what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." Calm…I brought myself under control, receding from the distaste of her touch upon me. Her weak, broken, ignorant touch that found me great…

I was tired and riled from the events of the last night, and never would enjoy someone leaning upon me in any capacity. I'd been dealt enough to carry and needed no more burdens, even a burden so slight. Pulling back into myself, I added in forced calmness that I slowly hardened into authenticity, "I thought I saw something. It was nothing."

A pause. Then, "Oh… good of you to make sure."

I breathed easier at her acceptance. A small part of me wanted to push her further away, harshly spurn her with words or action. But I held it in, seeing her as the little thing she was, and it slowly passed. Feeling cold and indifferent, sure she thought well of me and I would remain not blamed, I said, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Tom. Speak with you soon, I hope." She looked more lonely and lost, as if I were the only one who had taken those feelings away and now she was left with them worsening in my absence. Perhaps none had consoled her as well as me. Perhaps they actually desired to help, and that interfered with a proper delivery.

I watched her, seeing her strain to tell whether I was still there or not. I held that moment, watching her strain, waiting until I decided to stop and replied, "Oh, certainly." I then turned, not looking back, and managed not to be alone in her presence again.

Weeks passed after those gut-twisting nights, and I harnessed my power even more. Control ebbed through me, as did the aching pulse to continue. I had been practicing in bits away from my chamber, and I longed to be reunited and use it again. But I couldn't. Not since Myrtle had set up a permanent camp for herself in the lavatory with the entrance. Anytime she so much as heard steps approaching, she screeched and wailed loud enough to raise our hair down in the dungeons. She had taken Sophie's trauma unto herself, and in her dismay she was seriously hindering my plans.

I was treading through the congested halls, deep in thought over the annoying problem Myrtle had become. I had to think of something, and I was racking my brain when I heard an unwelcome interruption. Turning, I watched as the giant figure of Hagrid ran me down.

Sighing, I plastered a smile on my face and said, "Hello, Hagrid. We already had a study session, remember?" He had to have at least remembered the session, if none of the material.

Upon reaching me, Hagrid looked sheepish and said, "Would you believe I studied the wrong chapters?"

I stared at him. "Studied the wrong... how is that even poss—"

"You see, there was a bug that flew right onto my book! Imagine that!"

"Well, you do seem to attract them." I smiled benevolently.

"Thanks. And he was a cute little bugger. Kinda hard to explain... but you know, when you see something like that, then it melts your heart, and its eyes were just so..." His own bulging orbs got the glazed look they acquired whenever he saw food.

"I'm sure it was indescribable."

"Eh? Oh, yeah. Anyway, the little fella crawled right onto the section I was marking off to study! Can you imagine that?" His grin was wide.

I tried not to sigh. "Only because you depict it so eloquently."

He hurried on. "So I tried to shoo it, but it wouldn't move! And with Vallandora there, I couldn't get up to let it out—last time I did that, she got mad, I'll tell you. So, anyway, I marked the sections _beneath_ it, figuring I could go back later and correct it, but I guess I forgot I marked the wrong ones—"

I looked at him in bewilderment. "The sections underneath... wouldn't that mean the sections you had yet to cover?"

Hagrid scratched his head. "Well, yes, I—"

"You studied for _two days_ without realizing you hadn't done it before?!" I asked disbelievingly.

"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound a bit daft..."

"Oh, not at all."

He bumbled on. "But I was never any good at Charms, so I thought it was possible I had missed something. Thank goodness Annie caught me this morning studying the wrong stuff and—"

"Fascinating. Listen, Hagrid, I'm sure you're far too busy catching up on your studies to explain any further."

He looked down and mumbled back, "Well, you see... I'm kind of too busy to study for it now all by myself."

I was beyond frustrated with him. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope the other thing is important, because so is Charms." I turned to walk away when he grasped my arm.

"I am so glad to hear you say that, Tom. I knew you would understand." Puzzled, I turned back to him as he continued. "You see, I sort of have a... thing."

"You said that. What does it have to do with me?" I shook free of him.

"Well, it's a bit complicated. You know how I help take care of the animals around here?"

"Yes." I had heard the groundskeeper complain about Hagrid's interference at length.

"Well, I sort of bought a cute little thing that... well... really doesn't belong out there." His eyes grew shifty.

"I see. And?"

"Well, I know Wynn from working with him. He would want to get rid of it if he found out. He would try to poison it. I mean, sure, it _might threaten some of his other animals, but... it doesn't have to be dangerous. So I... kinda didn't tell him about it." He looked up at me from his lowered head._

I fought not to roll my eyes. "I see. So you have an illegal pet."

"Yeah. But remember when you said that sometimes you know what has to be done and you just have to do it?" he asked.

"Yes." I wished I cared where he was going with this prattle.

"Little Aragog doesn't harm a thing. He can't help the way he looks or what he is. But, it's a little harder to take care of him than I thought. I can't leave him for long, but I have to study..." Hagrid trailed off, looking dejected.

"I am so terribly sorry about that." I tried to be sympathetic while coming up with the easiest way to brush him off. "Listen, Hagrid, if you want my advice, I would study. I really can't help you study now; I have... a test myself. Feed your pet, hope that puts it to sleep, and study. I would rather have an angry pet that eats a few castle mice than get Dumbledore on my back."

I started walking away when Hagrid called out, "You don't think I should just tell Dumbledore? He might understand..."

"Sure, and he might not. You can take that chance, if you don't think you can handle Aragog. But if that's the case, that you aren't up to handling it, then maybe I should tell Dumbledore myself..." He was annoying me so greatly that this proposed action sounded appealing. Plus, it would have the added benefit of seeing one of Dumbledore's own precious Gryffindors in trouble for betraying his trust.

"No!" Hagrid panicked. "No, Tom, I can handle it. Trust me. I don't want to let Dumbledore down."

I couldn't help twisting the needle a bit further. His adoration for Albus was ridiculous. "Are you sure? I mean, if you can't and you tell him now, the worst thing that would probably happen is you won't be allowed to go to the Yule Ball."

At that he looked crestfallen. "I... erm... probably won't go to that anyway. Not too many prospects... you know..."

I feigned surprise. "Oh! I see... well, who needs the dance, anyway? I'm sure you have plenty of animals to keep you company." With that, I gave him a final smile and headed off. Yes, not going to the dance was a real reason for heartbreak and pain. He should be so lucky, to have such easily reconciled matters as that plaguing his chances. Not that it was any better than being unable to follow a blind girl around. Myrtle. I snorted. What a pair they were. And then my eyes widened... suddenly, I knew how to handle Hagrid and knew what to do about Moaning Myrtle as well.

~*~

A few days later, there was still no change in Myrtle's toilet stay. There was only one way to handle this, and it was all up to me. Cringing, then steeling my nerve, I approached my target. "Myrtle?"

She turned and looked up at me, her face drawn expectantly into a pout. It was now or never.

"Myrtle?"

"Yes?"

"Myrtle, I was wondering..."

"What?"

"If you would... like to go to the upcoming Ball with me." There. I hadn't even gagged.

Her eyes shadowed in confusion. Her goggles clouded, she half-rose. "Oh, Tom," she said.

I gritted my teeth and smiled. "What do you think?"

"What do I think…" Fully raised now, she stepped up and closed the gap between us. Looking deep into my eyes, she promptly socked me in the stomach.

I doubled back hard and gasping, more from shock than pain.

"Very funny! I thought better of you, Tom. I really did." Her eyes beginning to tear, she tried to push past me out the room.

I stepped into her way, hurrying on. "No, wait, Myrtle. I'm serious! I would really like to."

She paused, glancing over me with an air of distrust. "Why?"

Why indeed? _Because I can't trust anyone else to really go through with it and keep you happy that night, so you won't go crying in the bathroom and ruin yet ANOTHER opportunity for me._ "How could I not?"

Myrtle rolled her eyes. "Sure, right." But she didn't move.

"I heard how hard you are taking what happened to Sophie," I said.

"Oh, so you feel pity, is that it?" Her eyes flashed.

"No, no, no. I merely think that taking the incident to heart such as you have really says a lot about you." I smiled.

Her mouth trembled upward. "Really? Like what?"

_That you are an egocentric, whining twit._ "You can guess what. I mean, if you saw someone cry their eyes out for another, what would you think of them?"

Myrtle stuck her lip down. "I guess I would think they were... sensitive."

I smiled, swallowing a gag. "Well, there you go."

She smiled back, making her bad teeth grossly apparent. "So you think I am sensitive?"

"That would be the reasonable conclusion you would arrive at, wouldn't it? And what would you do to the person you felt such a way about?" I asked.

Her eyes glazed before she said in a whisper, "Ask... ask them to the dance?" She sounded like she couldn't believe her own words. And with good reason.

"Well, there you go," I replied. Therein, my fate was sealed… but it was all for the goal.

I would just have to keep telling myself that.

~*~

And so, three weeks later, I was escorting Moaning Myrtle into the Great Hall. She squawked when we got inside, which was appropriate—with her glasses and hair pulled back, she strongly resembled a parrot. I gritted my teeth as I looked over the crowd. The Hufflepuffs looked happy, the Ravenclaws curious, the Gryffindors suspicious... and the Slytherins were a nice mixture of amused and repulsed.

I saw Sammy and Randy approach, evil grins on their faces. Hurriedly I turned to Myrtle and said, "Myrtle?"

She looked up at me in surprise. "What?"

I thought fast. "I think... I saw Sophie over there. You really should patch things up with her. It'll be good for you." 

Myrtle's brow furrowed in confusion. "You think now is a good time?"

Quickly I pushed her in another direction. "Absolutely. That way we can have fun without you always thinking about her. You know how sensitive you are. She's over there... somewhere. Go."

Myrtle disappeared just as Sammy and Randy reached me. Grinning, Sammy said in mock sympathy, "Oh, Thomas... really, you could have just asked me. When you told us what you were planning, I didn't really think you would go through with it. You didn't have to sink so low."

_I could say the same to you._ "I'm simply trying to be nice."

Randy shot me a skeptical glance. "Sure, Tom. Because we all know what a giving soul you are."

"I gave my time to keep you from failing Potions for the past five years," I replied back with a smile.

Sammy grinned at me, tugging Randy off to dance. "I think Thomas has been known to do some good things on occasion. Given the proper incentive, right? Well, never matter. The professors arranged for us to have a dance to take our minds off the horrid events of this year, and I say we use it. Come on, luv, we can harass him later." She shoved him onto the dance floor then, twirling in a reddish light coming from the small sprites zooming across the ceiling.

Myrtle came back then, unfortunately. She pushed her glasses up, sniffling happily. Even when she wasn't crying, she was whimpering. How delightful. I consigned myself to the long night as I led her around, trying to avoid every eye possible.

Four hours, three dances, two drinks and one interminable walk back to the Ravenclaw common room later, I was finally rid of Myrtle. I had complimented, escorted, basically served her every whim this evening. My efforts paid off; when I left her, she actually smiled, and her voice decibel level decreased enough to sound almost human.

I gave a quick stop off at the Slytherin dorms to change clothing and remind Sammy that I would take the prefect watch right now. She was too busy complaining about the dance with all the other girls to give me the slightest attention, other than to say with wide-eyed innocence, "Did we have fun, Thomas? How do you think Myrtle looked?"

Slipping out of the rooms, I trod down the dark halls. Shivers of excitement which had long lain dormant now raced throughout me in full furor. Tonight, I would not fail.

I reached the bathroom and heard nothing inside as I pressed my ear against the door. Grinning, I applauded my stamina and tolerance this evening, then prepared for my payoff. Entering, I paused to look at the cracked walls and dripping faucets that held the mark of my forefather. My focus narrowed to that one tap, and I strode toward it with abandon. Planting myself in place, I inhaled the energy in the air and called forth my instrument of power with a voice emanating from deep within my gut.

And then... I heard _it._ Softly crying, softly whimpering behind me, concealed in a toilet._ Again._ I heard a wailing cry... something about her glasses, about someone mocking her after such a nice night. After all I had done, she was _still _in a wretched humour, breaking under the trivial comments of some silly classmate. How would she have dealt with being called a demon, a plague? With having been kicked and ignored for years on end, not ever having anyone to cry to and _still _not lowering oneself to residing in a toilet? She would never amount to anything, and her existence now not only hindered my plans but infuriated me for simply _being_. For just _existing_ in my presence.

I felt disgust that could not be ignored. It was almost unfair to make something so low my first true expression of the art within. But I could deal with that.

I continued to call my pet... and I waited for the stall door to creak open with the same whine as the doomed voice.


	25. Chapter 25: Making A Memory

A/N- LOL. Wow……..I knew people would be upset that Tom took Myrtle to the dance, but achieving "total crapage" is a new high. Though why that would be followed by a request to update soon, I can't fathom. Oh well. I thought it was pretty evident the reasons why Tom took Myrtle. He wanted to get her out from moaning in the toilet. Also, I needed to create a situation, namely, Myrtle's interference, to limit the number of people Tom could hurt. In the Chamber of Secrets, only one student dies. If any other students were petrified, once they recovered they could prove that it wasn't Aragog, but a different monster, the Basilisk, that hurt them. Therefore, Hagrid wouldn't have been punished. So Myrtle had to be the only victim, besides Sophie. Plus, Tom's taking Myrtle shows what a control freak he is. He is so persistent in his goal to achieve what Salazar set out to do that he would do anything. Even charm Myrtle. And he gets bonus points for appearing to be a nice, charming boy. Sorry if you don't buy it. If that wasn't clear, maybe I could rework it to make the reasoning a bit more apparent (though I couldn't come out and say, Myrtle's upset over Sophie to ensure the proper cannon facts of the novel by JKR are realized, namely, that she is the only death.) Speaking of cannon, I don't have my book on me at the moment, so the exact exchange bw Dippet, Tom, Hagrid, and Dumbledore isn't complete. Having said that, I didn't want to wait a few weeks till I get my book back bf updating, so if the incorrectness bothers you, be assured that it will be fixed and reloaded in about 3 weeks. Thank you. 

Dis-**Ownership**, _n_-all the HP stuff in this fic that does not belong to me. 

Chapter 25:  Making A Memory

I was now a witness of death for a second time. Myrtle's body lay there, drained and cold. Her bugging eyes stared up vacantly from behind cracked glass. Really, she didn't look much different than normal. There was no mystical experience, no feeling of a spirit being raised and released. My chain felt cool around my neck. Smiling a tight smile, I harkened back to days spent with my knees on cold concrete forced to pray for that transient soul inside me, born black and demonic. So much for spiritual teachings. 

The reality of that fact prevented any pity from entering my heart. She had been a useless, worthless creation. A fault of nature that I had corrected. And yes, I did have the right. I wouldn't have had the ability, the power to harness and the determination to control it, if I wasn't meant to wield that force. I was right in my position, of that I was certain. 

And so I slipped back out into the halls, my head not swimming and limbs light and supple. My emotion had informed my reason, but only in making my focus clearer. Myrtle was everything that I detested. I had had to draw on far less resources to be rid of Myrtle than I had had to for Precious. If that wasn't a testament to Myrtle's incompetence at being a living organism, I don't know what is. 

The Slytherin common rooms drew near, and I entered them silently. Surprisingly, Sammy, Randy, Damien, Cathleen, and Simon were still up, sitting beside the fire. They all turned when I entered and came forward, the flaming light illuminating my face. 

"Hi Thomas. Thanks for doing the round for us. Everything up to snuff then?" Sammy asked, leaning back onto Randy's chest. For the past three years she had wavered between being completely bored with Randy and being enraptured with how he doted on her. I had to applaud her. She wasn't breathtakingly beautiful, but she had snared some like Randy into a trap they would never be able to escape from, either from her personal charm or their innate dullness. 

"Everything was fine. Quiet as a tomb." I answered.

Simon snorted. "I bet, after taking that to the dance." His curiosity overtook the cool distance that had been built between us. "So, why did you do it? I half-expected you to magick her hair on fire or something halfway through the thing."

Simon shook his head, answering Randy without looking at me. In a smug voice he replied, "I know exactly why he did it. He plans on being Head Boy, and Dippet relies on Dumbledore to choose. Dumbledore would never pick Tom because he doesn't think he had enough of the Gryffin-ape heart in him. So by being the nice, sympathetic consort to Moaning Myrtle, something his OWN Gryffs wouldn't do, he wins brownie points." He finally turned his superior glare on me. "Right?"

I smiled. He couldn't have given me a better present than to use his wonderful logic to state my perfect excuse. Dumbledore had indeed looked suspicious, but when the night when on without hitch he seemed confused. Bewildered, almost, that I had shown such graces that even he couldn't explain away. "Well, Simon, nothing gets by you."

Sammy flipped her hair and snorted. "That wasn't worth it, if you ask me. But then, I could just be completely envious that you are now ahead of me in the race. They hardly ever pick a Head Boy and Head Girl both from the same House. I would be absolutely furious, if I weren't completely smashed." She then grinned and extended a bottle of Dark Wine, an expensive brand with the logo It's So Delectable You'd Think It Sinfully Dark. From the flush on all of their faces it was apparent they were all well into the bottle. 

Randy hiccupped then and said loudly, "Well, he'll never get the be Head of anything, if he's that heir that you……." He was shut up then by both Sammy and Simon, glaring at him.

I froze, swallowing the tremors coming from my frantically beating heart. "What heir?"

In a voice barely controlled over jealousy and drink, Simon said, "Oh, for once he doesn't know something? Well, my friend. You should check up on your lore. Every good Slytherin knows about the mystical Chamber………and wouldn't you just make the perfect candidate, with your absolutely perfect record in every class………."

Rolling her head back on Randy's chest, Sammy loftily said back, "Oh, but we all know it can't be Tom. He's a mud—" at that her eyes widened and she turned to face me. Giggling nervously, she tried to recover through her haze. "A much too nice person," she finished, offering me the bottle as if a token of reconciliation. Her eyes were glassy and shallow.

Stepping back, I examined them all. Amusement flowed over any hate or shame. How bloody blind sighted they all were. Too ignorant and narrow to see what I had become. Let Simon wrap himself at night in the comfort that I was a mudblood. Let them all, for that matter. Let them live in the past at a distance where they belonged. 

I smiled and shook my head at the offer. "No thanks, I'm going to go turn in, do some reading. Though I must say, Samantha, you are the most eloquent drunk I have ever met. Just make sure you Obliviate any first years who wake with a nightmare and come out and see you."  With a final nod, I turned and left them to their revelry. I didn't need wine to lighten myself into a festive mood. 

The news about Myrtle spread like a raging fire. By morning classes were cancelled and we all sat in our common rooms. I saw Simon look at me contemplatively. If anyone might be able to piece together anything, it would be Simon or Dumbledore. But Simon's logic wouldn't permit him to think that I was the heir. That notion of a mudblood heir went too far outside the foundation of him. No, I smiled sweetly at him, letting him wallow in his circles of introspection. 

Dumbledore I was far more focused on. It was a joy to see him realize what I always knew; how little control around this school he actually had. It would be just like him to take this event to heart. Myrtle was dead, so HE was upset and guilty that HE hadn't stopped it and saved the day and been crowned the savior of the universe. But of course all he told us prefects was how sorry he was about the events, and how we would all have to work together to ensure the future safety of the school. Well, I certainly could ensure that future. If I wished to. 

But still, Dumbledore was eying me even closer than usual. At breakfast the next morning, he and Dippet were conversing and kept glancing in my direction. I was too focused on them to notice when two Slytherin second years got hexed by Hufflies for stating the obvious fact that Myrtle wouldn't exactly be missed. To think that because of Dumbly I missed such a legendary event as some Huff-n-puff doffers mustering an iota of self-respect to fight back.  

Even worse was getting the call to Dippet's office during Charms. As a prefect, I was deemed capable of walking the halls without dying by myself. So I tread the winding halls, wondering what, and who, I would really face. Facing the solid wood door, I had the same sinking feeling that I had had all those years ago when I had been sent to Mr. Blunt. I wiped my palms dry and knocked hesitantly. I heard a tired voice call, "Enter." 

Slowly I opened the door to face Dippet sitting behind his desk. He was alone, that was something. Seeing him it was evident his expression was as heavy as his voice. "Ah, Riddle."

I remembered to smile. Taking off my hat, I tried to approach confidently. "You wanted to see me, Headmaster Dippet?"

Dippet waved me to a seat and took a deep sigh. "Sit down. I've just been thinking about your request to spend the break here." 

He seemed far too hesitant to my liking. "Oh?"

He gave me an exasperated expression. "My dear boy, I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer." I guess he realized how unconvincing that sounded, because fluster overtook him then. "Surely you want to----to go home for the holidays."

That was a nice solid sock in the chest. "No. I'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that-to that-" I could hardly squeeze words out as my insides shriveled at the thought. 

I suppose he was not used to seeing the tension I let slip in my voice. Curiously, he ventured, "Ah yes, I forgot. You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?"

I fought back to control, managing a smile. "Yes, Sir."

"You are Muggle-born? What of your parents then?" I wondered who put him up to all of these questions. 

"Half blood, sir. My father was a………Muggle………and my mother a witch. Marvolo was her surname, the name of my grandfather." _One of them, at least_, I thought, smirking. 

Dippet backed off then, sighing back into his seat. "The thing is, Tom, special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…"

This I was expecting. I was as prepared as I ever would be to make my plea in this case. "You mean all these attacks, sir?"

But Dippet didn't let me get even a word in. His face reflected the panic he felt. "Precisely! Tom, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain here. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor little girl… You will be safer by far at your orphanage. The Ministry itself is even talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the..….the……." He couldn't even form the words. 

It was now my chance to jump in.  "Sir, if the person was caught—if it all stopped—"

"What do you mean?" He jumped all over my words, preventing me from continuing. My suspicions about who had been talking with him increased. He had never interrogated me before. NEVER. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"

Dumbledore. Fine, if he wanted to play this way, I was game. I drew my eyes wide with innocence. "No, sir."

Dippet looked at me for a second, no doubt remembering how often I had sat across from him and helped him with work. How many times I had smiled up at him just like an angelic child of his very own. He finally sighed again and waved me out. "You may go, Tom."

Giving him a last smile and nod, I humbly held my hat before me as I exited his office. Once outside my eyes steeled as I clenched my jaw. It was one thing for Dumbledore to corrode his mind with suspicions about me he couldn't prove, but to take it to Dippet seemed just so………..juvenile and pathetic. But still damaging. Dumbledore carried enormous weight with Dippet. I had to distract him…………and make his chest clench as mine had with the thought of returning to that Hell. He had been willing to send me back to suffer under the bigotry and cruelty that had encompassed me world for eleven years. And if he thought he was doing it for the best, if he didn't realize what had gone on at the orphanage, than he was a willfully ignorant, blind fool. Well, I could give him something he couldn't ignore. Something that would rip his precious image apart inside and out as he tried to do to mine. 

"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?" Upon hearing that, I spun so quickly my foot almost caught on the hem of my robe. Breathing deeply, I gazed at none other than Albus. 

"I had to see the Headmaster, sir." I said nothing else, letting the possibilities hang for him.

His pride refused to let him inquire further. "Well, hurry off to bed," he said. "Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…" He broke off there, watching me. Neither one of us broke our solid, impenetrable eye contact. Eventually, he nodded slightly and quietly said, "Good night, Mr. Riddle," 

I nodded civilly, even smiling respectfully as he withdrew. "Good evening, Professor." So it was bedtime. I hope he had already tucked his precious Gryffindors in safe for the night. I smirked at his proud, retreating back, so healthy now and full of hope again. The clocks of Hogwarts rang, and it was just the right time that I would feed a monstrous illegal pet. 

Hagrid was about as difficult to figure out as a game of connect the dots. If the pet was Hagrid's, it would be large. He would keep it someplace big enough to house it and vacant enough to not be found. He could be counted on to be a bit sharp and safe if the animal was at risk. There was only one place, and that was the room off the tunneled hallway in the dungeons. It led nowhere, had some dusty boxes long deserted, and enough creeping creatures to feed almost anything. 

I hurried along, keeping a swift and determined pace. I didn't want to risk missing him, and I didn't count on the fact he would be brave enough to hang out long outside after hours. So I slipped along through the shadows until I came to the unlocked door I desired. Already I could hear his thick-sounding accent. Creeping quietly, I leaned in to overhear. "That's it, then, little fella. Back into your bed." I heard the creaking of a box closing. 

Taking out my wand, I took a deep breath, placed a stern expression on my face, and opened the door. "Hagrid!"

He spun like a top, his eyes wild with fright. "Tom?"

I gave my expression a bit of pity. "It's all over now, Hagrid. I know you didn't intend it, but that monster killed somebody."

Hagrid tried to sidestep in front of the box. Waving his arms before him, he shouted in panic, "No! You don't understand. It wasn't Aragog, he wouldn't hurt anyone!"

I extended my arm and commanded, "Stand away from the box." He was trembling before me, but not moving. Gee, how brave and courageous. That would stop me. 

"Tom, please……" Hagrid began, trying to manage syllables at this point. Ignoring him, I shifted my position quickly.

Pointing at the box, I summoned forth the easy spell. Within a second it had split open, and as I saw something black being thrown by the force, I myself was pinned against the wall. Hagrid had shoved me aside, trying to get at the hairy creature. Unfortunately, he had shoved me within perfect range of the skittish creature. We eyed each other for a moment, and as I began to raise my hand to ward it off, it attacked. With the speed of utter fury it pounced, and I held off only as I saw Hagrid run in front. The two collided and slammed into me, throwing me back against the wall for a second time. 

With that force darkness came, along with the sweep of hot sweat and the fierce beating of my heart. Consciousness wavered as I heard Hagrid's voice. It was as if he were speaking to the creature under water, for I couldn't make any of the sounds into words. But whatever he said must have had relevance, for the creature turned and fled down the hall, its thick legs smacking the ground with force enough to leave concrete imprints. It was indeed a horrific looking, blood-lusting beast. It was perfect. 

As I regained full consciousness I could feel Hagrid lifting me up, supporting me with his gigantic shoulder. I let my head sag so he wouldn't bother to try and talk, only saying gruffly, "I'll get you to the hospital wing." From his tense body I could tell he was feeling absolutely furious and betrayed. But all I cared about was having help limping back to civilization. He was assisting me to his own expulsion, at the least. That fear wasn't lost on him, and he never could prevent his emotions from flooding his features. As we entered the wing, he looked positively dreadful. 

Madame Drawt shrieked when she saw us. Immediately she waved us to a table. Hagrid let go of my shoulder as I gingerly sat upon the bed. As awareness fully hit me, I realized how difficult it was to breath. I clenched my side as Drawt ordered me to lie down. She waved a wand over me as she ordered Hagrid to get Dippet, who was in a meeting with the Minister. My ears perked up at that. Oh, it was too perfect to have imagined. Well worth the broken ribs I had no doubt received.

Drawt concluded as much. Stepping back, she pocketed her wand as she announced, "Two broken ribs, and a mild concussion. Mr. Riddle, I thought it had been too long since you had visited me. You had to make it good, didn't you?"

A concussion to boot. Moaning, I placed a hand to my head and asked, "How about Hagrid? Is he alright?"

Drawt clucked at that and rubbed my arm. "Such a sweet boy. Rubeus is fine, love. Now you just rest."

I shook my head, which did indeed hurt like hell. "No, you don't understand……..he……..he………."

"Shhh," Drawt soothed me. Her face was the picture of pity and admiration. "You worry too much about others, Tom. First you take that poor girl to the dance to make her feel better, and then she………and now this………." Her eyes even welled with tears. "This has been such a hard week for you. If you need anything—"

I smiled at her. "You've done more than enough. What you're doing is perfect." With that she choked back a sob and patted my hand. She stood like that as Dumbledore, Dippet, and Minister Charles C. Woodwand II came in. Woodwand was as tall as Dumbledore only with ten times the girth. His hair was a dark brown despite his age, and he wore his robes like an emperor. Dippet lagged behind him with Hagrid as Dumbledore and he strode in side by side. 

They spread out before my bed. Drawt, noticing that she was less than wanted, scurried off to make the healing potions. As she left, she gave me a kiss on the forehead and bushed the hair from my eyes. I saw both Dippet and Woodwand smile at that. I smiled at her retreating back, silently thanking her splendid, albeit heartfelt, performance. 

Dumbledore spoke first. "Tom, what happened tonight? Are you alright?" His follow-up was clearly not his main inquiry. 

Making sure I made eye contact with all of them, I began to weave my tale. "I'm fine, Sir……..are you alright Hagrid? Yes? Oh, good, I was so worried. You see, Sirs, Hagrid helped me back here. I couldn't have made it on my own, after….." I let a spasm of pain wrack my face. Dippet came forward with concern blatant on his face, but I waved him away in a brave display. "No, it's alright. You see, part of this is my fault, Sir."

Dumbledore's eyes pricked up at that. "Your fault?" Even Hagrid, who had been examining his shoes, looked up in confusion at that.

I nodded in sorrow. "Yes. You see, I knew Hagrid was keeping an illegal pet. Of course, I had no idea exactly how dangerous it was until-"

"That's a lie!" Hagrid burst out. Face red, he turned to Dumbledore pleadingly, "Please Sir, listen to me. It wasn't Aragog! I swear!"

"Now just hold on," Woodwand cut in irritably. He clearly wasn't used to interruptions during a debriefing session. "Dippet, can we take that hysterical child out so we can listen to what happened?"

Dippet ignored Dumbledore's headshake. Clearly, he differed to Woodwand here. "Certainly, Sir. Rubeus, please go join Madame Drawt next door."

He practically had to drag Hagrid along to put him in the next room. Hagrid kept looking back at me like a wounded puppy begging not to be let down. "Please Tom, tell them the truth. I wouldn't keep something that dangerous! You know me! Please, don't do this!"

I stared back at him. "I'm sorry, Hagrid. But I couldn't live with myself if I did the wrong thing here." And then, turning back to Dippet, Woodwand, and Dumbledore, I finished the story. "Well, I followed Hagrid down to where he kept the thing in the castle. I should have gone to one of you, Sirs, but I didn't want to risk getting Hagrid in trouble if he was innocent. I mean, just because the thing was illegal doesn't mean it was monstrous. So I went to where I knew he'd be keeping Aragog, and saw the thing. It was terrible, Sirs. A large, black monster with fangs. Hagrid couldn't control it, and it attacked me. There was blood on the ground. It could have been from mice it fed on, or…….." I let my voice trail off, allowing their imaginations to fill in the horrifying gaps themselves. 

After a moment of speechlessness, Dippet blustered out, "This—this is unbelievable! How could he have possibly kept something that he knew could endanger the students?!"

"Well, Sir, I knew about it too," I offered before Dumbledore could bring it up.

Dippet waved that off. "As you said, Tom, you didn't know why it was illegal. Certain pets aren't allowed at Hogwarts because they are too noisy, not because they KILL students. I'll have that boy expelled. It's the least we can do for the poor girl's parents."

I looked up quickly and with a sympathetic voice said, "Oh, Sir, must you? Hagrid didn't mean to, I'm sure. He just couldn't handle Aragog. He really didn't……." At that I sank back onto the bed, milking the dizzy wave. Hagrid would be expelled. Perfect.

Dippet smiled curtly at me. "You're a good boy, Tom. But this kind of behavior can't go unpunished. No, expulsion is the LEAST…….."

"Quite right. He should be tried before the court. People will want Azkaban for this. We can't just let the heir---" Woodwand was cut off by Dumbledore.

"You can't honestly believe that Hagrid opened the chamber?" Dumbledore interrupted in utter disbelief. 

Woodwand, clearly miffed at being cut off, faced off with Dumbledore. Coolly he shot, "I know how hard it must be for you Albus to accept that one of your students is capable of this. But look at the facts. Get your head into reality, man." 

Oh, it was brilliant. Dumbledore's face crumpled in defeat. The thought of Hagrid being sent to Azkaban tested even Dumbledore's soul. It was now time to show exactly who in this room had the power of persuasion. Turning with a wince, I said weakly, "Oh, please, Minister. I tutored Rubeus for three years. He made a mistake, one he will have to live with for the rest of his life. Just the knowledge of having taken another's life must rip him apart. Right, Professor Dumbledore? Any true Gryffindor wouldn't be able to stand it. That should be punishment enough. But I trust you to know best, Sir, and to deal out the appropriate punishment. I just hope Hagrid will come to understand why I did what I had to do, and someday forgive me."

There was utter silence, and I saw Dippet and Woodwand look at me like I had grown a halo around my head. Woodwand finally got out, "You truly are an amazing young man, Mr. Riddle. I would have to take any plea as heartfelt and passionate as that into account. I suppose it would be fitting if he were simply expelled……"

I let my smile travel to Dumbledore's impassive face. "I'm so glad that you would listen to me, Sir." 

Woodwand sighed, turning to Dippet. "Of course, there is one other matter." They both looked a bit uncomfortable as Woodwand approached me to continue. "You see, Mr. Riddle, we are in the middle of a war. A very tight, terrifying one. Moral is low already, and if it leaked out that………certain events…….occurred here, it might push some already frayed nerves. Public support of the Ministry, and of Defense members like some of your Professors, hangs in the balance here. And I know you care about your professors very much….."

Good lord. Did he think I was ten? "You want me to lie about what happened here, then, Sir?" I turned a shocked expression on them. 

Woodwand's eyes bugged at that. "NO! Not at all, young man. It's just…..you want to be a hero right? A good guy. Well, I want to make you one. I want to give you an award for what you did tonight. How would you like that?"

I fought not to roll my eyes. "Oh, I would like that very much, Sir."

"You see, these awards are given when certain self-sacrificing acts cause a better future. But if the events of tonight got out, that future might not be so bright for certain people like me---like the Ministry. And your good teachers here."

I furrowed my brow. "So I would only really help and deserve this award if I kept quiet?" I saw Dumbledore roll his eyes, and for once we were in complete agreement over this asinine ploy.

But Woodwand beamed. "Yes, exactly! What a bright boy. You'll be gunning for my job soon, I bet. Anyway, this award is a sign that you are one of us. Everyone will know that you helped the school, and it'll just be a mystery as to how. Except for us." He finished with a wink.

I tried not to laugh. If he were this simple in his campaigns, I wouldn't have to work very hard to put him out of office. But still, his intentions were just beautiful. An Award for Special Service to the school. The irony was almost too sweet. 

Dumbledore sighed then, quietly saying straight at me, "I think I should be the one to speak with Hagrid. I wish to discuss all this with him."

Dippet waved him out. "You can tell him he is expelled, Albus. Consol him if you must, but I want him out of here by tomorrow." He had clearly gained confidence in the presence of Woodwand. 

Dumbledore turned at that, preparing to leave. He only stopped, shoulders stiff, as I called out a parting shot, "And please tell Hagrid I hope he will be alright." 

I was released from the hospital in a day. Already my schedule was lighter, now that Hagrid was gone. I got strange looks from Annie, but she didn't dare approach. I was too busy to give her much concern at the moment. All I could think about was how Salazar's plan had failed.

It was hard to accept that it simply an impossible or bad idea. The thought of failure hung heavily around me. Had I chickened out, just from the fear of being sent back to the orphanage? Or let my rage against Dumbledore force me to act hastily? These doubts clouded my mind incessantly, obsessively. But every way I turned it I was left in an impossible array of uncertainty. I could not count on the fact that it was just bad timing, or Dumbledore's interference. The thought that it was I who was lacking made me nauseous and infuriated. I had changed and truly become Salzar's heir. And I would continue to change, to perfect ways to execute our ideals. But I couldn't just leave his legacy as a broken, unfulfilled memory. 

A memory. My Memory. Memories. My eyes shot open in the night weeks later. Shaking, I drew in breaths of frigid air. There was one way that I could end the uncertainties, and cover all my possibilities. To keep now what was, and the future to still be decided. I could shape every future, every fallback. I could know for certain the power of Salazar, honor him at the same time as moving beyond. I could leave him his heir as I became Lord Voldemort, bringing his legacy to another realm. 

It was so cold in the dungeons. I heard the shivering of the other Slytherins as I slipped out of bed. There, at the bottom of my trunk it sat. I brought it into the common rooms, where it shone in the darkness. The little black leather, the gold letters of my name. The name that had brought so much hate, and yet so much power to behold. It was a memory worth saving……….for the right person. And I would find them……….and I would not fail.

I took out my pen, and prepared the incantation. It would take a long time for all to be set, and for the magic to work. But first I had to write something. Anything, just to begin. With shaky hand and steady will, I drew my quill. Ink dripped as I turned the sparkling pages. My mind flooded with the images of the past. Of hunger and pain, sickness and terror………of isolation and beating, crying and suffering………and of power. Of glory. Of success and triumph, knowledge and possibilities. 

I lean over, and I prepared to capture a memory. 

My name is…………Tom Marvolo Riddle…………

____________________________

A/N- I am not endorsing underage drinking. Having said that, after a party a group of 16 yr old friends hanging out at home with some wine doesn't seem unreasonable to me. But maybe I'm just a bad seed. 8-) Plus there was something about Tom just taking a life and then joining a group joking and drinking that just tickled me. 


	26. Chapter 26: The Silver Rose Ever After

**Chapter 26: The Silver Rose Ever After**

_June 16th_

_Inevitable expectations marred fairy tales for me for life. You expected the prince to save the princess. You expected the wolf to die or the witch to be cooked. Children shouted out the ending as soon as the story began and yet still feverishly waited with anticipation until that ending was finalized in words. That's because the reality is that such expectations are utter fabrications. There is only the inevitable unforeseeable. Even at three, children were world-wearied enough to doubt the authenticity of those tales where the righteous always won and evil never tainted the truth. All grays shadowed into stark black or white on those tepid canvasses. That wasn't what the children clung to with age._

_There was a truth underneath those tales, if one could call it truth. An identifiable reality perhaps is a better explanation. The horror and helplessness of innocent suffering is universal, as is the wicked and real judgmental punishment of those given little voice. Whose voice tells the tale but the sweet Cinderella, whose docile nature eventually allows her evil stepsisters to be blinded? Who commends the evil witch forced to dance over hot coals by the nurturing Snow White? What audacity, what hypocrisy judges those acts as moral laws by which to live? A champion of romanticized ego and inflated self-importance comes to mind. For, in truth, there are far more who lean towards the stepsisters than the lady of the ash transformed by fate. No fairy godmothers magicked happiness that I could see, even here. No inborn destiny determined an outward manifestation of clear good over evil._

_Children could see this. Three year olds, even. How can't Dumbledore? "No matter what, the good will lead, and the true triumph," he says. How he is convinced that he is the manifestation of all goodness and light I have long put to rest as senility and self-indulgence. Grindelwald will fall because he is "evil," and therefore weaker. Yet most of the magic world has fallen to Grindelwald at this time. If the man has one fault, it's in not maximizing his power against __England__ right now. For not even Dumbledore will be able to accept truth and goodness should Grindelwald's power rise here now. Fervent wishes fail before the deft hands of pure strength and undiluted desire combined._

_But here I leave, with the inevitable possibly a bit more foreseeable. When the Heir rises again, the power of Slytherin will dominate once more. All the will and judgments of a society contrived of transparent morals may fall where they may. Barricades of courage and lightening bolts of valor may raise themselves on the foundations of a heart golden from rightness. But it will not be a battle of good and evil in the end, for it never was. It is power, that amoral, inborn essence of desire and strength, which leads the way. It is always the possession of power that makes of history what its bearer chooses._

Quill aside, I closed the diary for the last time that day. But not before watching my words sink in and disappear, preserving my memory within it forever.

~*~

"So you didn't abandon me this time."

I smiled at Sammy as she spoke. It was a few months later, and I had taken the train out to meet the students returning to Hogwarts. It was either riding on a train with hours to myself or helping Wynn and Vallandora set up the Great Hall again. Not much of a struggle, really.

"I would rather die than disappoint you," I said, to which she snorted.

"You'd rather not disappoint me than decorate the Great Hall," she replied wryly. "And I'd _hardly_ call it disappointment. More like...annoyance."

"Fine. Have it your way. I'd rather annoy you more than anything else in the world."

At that she stuck her tongue out at me. She had an odd way of doing it. It was thin and pointy, and the tip of it always curled up as she wagged it. Her eyes then lit, and I could literally see her mind switching topics. "And I'm supposing you heard about the dueling tournament Hogwarts is having this semester!"

"I'm organizing it," I pointed out dryly.

"Don't get fresh with me. Randy is furious, by the way. It falls on the date of the big Quidditch game we'll be having against Gryffindor. That one practically always decides the team cup winner."

"Oh dear, I wonder how that mistake could have happened," I said in mock surprise.

Sammy laughed. "He swore you did it on purpose, and I told him he was being silly. I knew you did though."

"How sweetly touching. What do I owe for your act of kindness?" I asked.

Her smile darkened. The lighthearted mood evaporated between us. As she leaned in, I involuntarily tensed and leaned back. Her voice lowered, she whispered, "What did you find out this summer about..._you_ know." Her eyebrows lifted. "The Chamber?"

I laughed, pushing my worry down. Sammy might have been fairly bright and inquisitive, but there was no way her attention could be held long enough to really find out what happened last year. Of course, the fact that she had been intrigued by it for over three months made me want to quench any further inquiry immediately. "Honestly, Sammy, I don't know anything about it."

My definitive voice wasn't enough. She further probed, "What about Hagrid? He couldn't have been the Heir...my father says it's impossible."

"Well, if your _father_ says it's impossible—"

"Shut up. Hagrid was a Gryffindor. Hardly what the Heir would be. And he's oafish and stupid and gross and...just stupid." Her eyes narrowed. "Look, you know I don't care that Hagrid was expelled...more room and less odor for us. And if I was in your place...blaming Hagrid is a pretty small price for getting that medal."

Part of me wanted to laugh at how small and petty her ideas were. The other part was furious that she thought I would go to such distances for something as trifling as a medal. I turned my expression to show sufficient insult. "Oh yes. I broke my own ribs as well. And that concussion, well, that was nothing. A few rolls down the stairs, running into a few walls, and viola! All for a shiny medal, of course."

Her eyes rolled, but still she persisted. My anger increased as she replied, "I'm not saying Hagrid didn't have some stupid pet that bit you or whatever. All I'm saying is...is that we're friends. You could trust me."

"Friends?" I asked skeptically.

She had the decency to look a bit stung. "Well, I thought we were."

"Fine. Then as your friend, I think you should believe me," I shot back.

Her jaw clenched. "Fine." She turned away from me and crossed her arms.

Just then the compartment door opened hesitantly. The small, pale face of Annie peeked round and blanched when she saw Sammy. Sammy rolled her eyes. Getting up, she smirked as she passed. "He's all yours, honey. By the way, are you sure it's all right if you leave your disabled guilt trip alone? She might abandon other animals for more of your housemates to kill."

Annie's scared expression hardened. Since Myrtle's death and Hagrid's expulsion, she had taken over helping Sophie. "If animals are the targets, I'd be more worried about you. That is, if I liked you."

I smiled as Sammy huffed. Hissing, "Hearts of gold and brains of birds, the lot of you," she stalked out. Her scent of spice and roses faintly hung in the air long after her departure.

I nodded Annie in. A small smile crept up her face as she slunk into the seat across from me. In truth, I was a bit surprised to see her. She had avoided me the remainder of last year. Every time I had caught her eye, I had been met with confusion and apprehension.

I remained silent, waiting for her to begin. Finally, she took in a deep breath and looked directly at me. "Hi."

I nodded back civilly. "Hi."

She sounded as awkward as she looked. "Um...are you writing in the diary?"

"Oh, no. I don't seem to have a knack with words. Every time I had an idea and began to put it down, it seemed to fade away," I said. She didn't detect the bit of glibness I had infused. "Thank you for it, though."

"Yeah, I can understand that. My mind does that, too. Ideas I think are so clear, once I really look them over, seem suddenly so...muddy." Her eyes became as cloudy as her words. "I knew about Aragog."

I internally tensed at that. Suddenly spending time hanging flowers with Wynn didn't seem so terrible. "Oh?"

Her small hands twisted in her lap. "Uh-huh. I wasn't going to help him study, because I was so busy. But he broke down and told me, and..." Her eyes shut tightly, as if she were about to cry. "And I saw him. Aragog, I mean. He didn't seem so bad. And Hagrid, he would never..." Her voice trailed off.

I plastered a smile on my face. "Annie, I never thought for a minute that Hagrid did any of those terrible things on purpose."

She peeked out from behind her fists. "Really?"

"Of course not." _He's too stupid to pull something like that off._ "He's too good to pull something like that off. Ask Dumbledore. I said it wasn't Hagrid's intent to hurt anyone."

"Oh, Tom. I know you were a friend of Hagrid's. And I know we should be grateful he didn't get sent to Azkaban. But I can't help but think that I should be punished. I knew about Aragog, and I didn´t do anything." She sniffled, looking at me.

She wanted me to tell her it wasn't her fault, to take her guilty blame away. She wanted me to play the protector, as always. "Annie, I didn't do anything about it until it was too late as well. Granted, I hadn't seen the monster like you." I saw her wince. "But all could share in the blame, if you go down that road. The teachers, for not noticing something. Wynn, for not killing it immediately. Society, for raising someone like Hagrid to think they could handle such a creature."

"But what is wrong with allowing all that blame? Isn't there some truth in it?" She was beginning to annoy me. It really wasn't my role to reason out right from wrong for her. But I must admit there was the tiniest bit of smug satisfaction that I held such an influence over her.

"Annie, it all comes down to the individual's actions. You were raised in the same society as Hagrid, presumably. You didn't harbor a monster. Innate right or wrong has nothing to do with it. It is actions and consequence. Had the monster saved a life, Hagrid would be wearing this medal and not me." _That was a nice touch. _I was thoroughly enjoying myself at this point.

Puzzlement scrunched up Annie's face. "But...it's like then there is no right or wrong."

"There isn't. At least, not in a universal, unchangeable, ultimate idea of rightness. It's all relative or socially dependent. What is considered right or wrong has changed throughout history," I pointed out.

Her eyes darkened. "I can't think of when killing was ever considered right."

"I see. Even Grindelwald?" She went silent at that.

"I...I just...I don't know." She seemed about to cry again.

I tried to make my voice patient. "Look, Annie, what did you want me to say? That you are guilty of something? I don't believe you are. If hindsight is the measure, we are all guilty of immense things. You didn't bring in the creature. You didn't know how dangerous it was. Hagrid did."

"It's just..." Her voice was lower than a whisper, and she was gnawing on her bottom lip. "It's just...if I had been in your position..."

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't have done the same thing!" she finally burst out. Tears flowed freely as she sobbed. "At first I thought you were just out to make a name for yourself. That you turned Hagrid in just to win points with the staff. But then I realized that I was only fooling myself. I was so mad at you because I was jealous and guilty. I was too blind to consider Hagrid, too scared to think a friend and Gryffindor would do something like that! I wouldn't have told on Hagrid because he was my friend and had trusted me. A girl died, and...and...and I still wouldn't have turned him in, if he said he hadn't done it." Her voice was hoarse by now, her face as red as her hair. "Some honor code. Some bravery, huh?"

"Such a little princess, virtuous and loyal, good and valiant." She sucked in her breath, looking warily to see if I was mocking her. "This world is too gray for you, my dear. Go into your Gryffindor tower and lock yourself away. Grow old in your isolation, yet proud in your virtues. Complex sorrows will never crease your face then, but the questioning emptiness will never leave your eyes. Seek your fairy tale reasoning there, for you won't find it in the real world."

I stood and left her then, her normally white face now a motley red and gray.

~*~

Sixth year started out brilliantly. All the teachers knew I had received a perfect score on the O.W.L.s exams, a first at Hogwarts in a long time. Everyone on the faculty praised me, and some suggested I might even finish early. That suggestion was quickly put to rest...I have no doubt by whom. But still, I was an assistant teacher practically in Charms and Potions. It was much nicer helping in the classrooms than working outside with Wynn. I had free range in the library as well, since most of the professors had given me passes to do extra credit work.

I was also something of a silent hero, laughably enough. Since no one "technically" knew about what happened last year, no one spoke about my award out loud. Still, most underclassmen except Gryffindors gave me deferential nods whenever I passed. The teachers glowed with pride. I could roam the halls at whatever hour I pleased. I could read whatever I chose, do what work I wanted. I bet that if I had entered a classroom late, turned in no work and put the Cruciatus Curse on someone, I'd have been praised.

Right up there with me was Damien. He was now Head Boy and Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, which hadn't lost the team cup in all his years at school. His father had recently paid to have all the dorms redone, so each class had its own room. He also gave a grant to be used in the protection of the school should any dark arts creep in. Whether out of Quidditch fever or deference to the power of the Malfoy name, anything he did was golden.

Which made it only better when the school made him move the treasured Quidditch game, so my dueling match could take place on the day I desired. The professors claimed it was because the art of dueling was becoming increasingly important as of late. However, that was a pale smokescreen for their preference of me. I never gloated out loud about it, but it was always nice to see Damien thrust down a peg or two. At the one brief Death Eaters meeting we had, his eyes had glared a smoky black at me. In hindsight, picking that date might not have been the best decision I ever made.

In truth, I was growing a bit fed up with the Death Eaters. They were too simple, far too shallow in their goals. The crème of Hogwarts were hardly more than crumbs to me. How useful would they be? And how could I tell?

"Riddle, you there?" The voice of Simon broke through my thoughts. It was the November day of the dueling tournament. I pulled my gaze onto him. He wore a brilliant green robe fastened at the neck with a silver serpent. Rubies shone from the eyes and mouthpart. His light hair was plastered on his face, damp from perspiration. A smug look shone on his face. "Just hexed the Weasel clean. You know, the one that got a point on you?"

I gritted my teeth. "Congrats. See you in the finals." We both still had two rounds to go.

His smile was secure and assured. "But of course."

There was little doubt that I would be facing Simon. Still, there were some other fairly good duelers. Sammy was creative, but she had trouble focusing. Damien was bloody great, but he and all the Slytherin Quidditch players had boycotted the tournament. That was a disappointment...I had been looking forward to beating Damien. Then, there was a fourth year Gryffindor who was quick, but she was too young to know all the spells. Three Ravenclaws were still in the running, all of them well versed. Luckily, they were placed against each other, so two would be eliminated before reaching either Simon or me. One of them was Sophie.

Many of the spells didn't work on her, since she was blind. Several of the participants had complained about the fairness of that fact. I was certain her disability was the only reason she was left. In truth, it didn't bother me. I actually found it sort of exciting. Unfortunately, Simon was the one to go against her. I had just finished my semifinal round, ousting the fourth year Gryffindor with a simple "_Occulous__ Expelliarmus!_" She hadn't known how to block for spells aimed at specific objects on her. Her glasses had flown off, and in her fluster I had blasted her backwards with a quick, "_Flipendo__!_" Her cheeks angry, she had stalked off. I jumped off the dueling platform in the Great Hall, admittedly anxious to see Simon and Sophie.

It was quite a sight. He towered over her, his eyes trying to hold a steely gaze on the abyss of hers. Her gaze wavered...she seemed to be trying to find his eyes with the direction of his breath on her. He recognized this a moment after me, and I saw his eyes light up with devilish glee.

They saluted and turned crisply, pacing away from each other. On the mark, they stood waiting for Zwipp to give the starting call. I craned my neck and saw Simon muttering silently, his mouth barely moving. His wand quivered ever so slightly as the countdown began.

Sophie would spell first. Raising her wand, she flicked the end twice, shouting, "_Petrificus__ Totalus!_" 

Her binding spell flew right by Simon, missing him by centimeters. He hadn't bothered wasting time with a blocking spell, instead shouting out himself, "_Relashio__!_"

Sophie's wand flew from her hand. Directed by Simon, it came neatly into his. Sophie stood a moment, thunderstruck. I could see her thinking behind her vacant gaze for some incantation that didn't require a wand. Simon, however, gave her no breathing room. In order to show his true mastery, he spun her wand round and used it as he cried, "_Stupefy!_"

That was cruel indeed. The Stupefy spell left the subject more than stunned. They stood there appearing stupid, unable to move or react, looking like they couldn't comprehend what was going on around them. I had had it done to me in the past, and rest assured it was a humiliating experience. To have had it done by one's own wand...well...Sophie's unconscious blush attested to how that must have felt. Zwipp had to carry her off the platform and break the spell. His expression was slightly dark, though he could do nothing. While not the nicest of rounds, he had not caught Simon doing anything illegal.

Simon just casually tossed her wand to some spectator, turning all his focus on me. A triumphant grin slid over his face. "Next."

In the background was rustling, and a disgruntled Gryffindor muttered, "Of course two Slytherins would make the finals...dirty game."

I hopped up, smiling back at him. "How very brave of you to assume her spell would miss you. And the wand bit, very showy. Was that for my benefit?"

"Just wanted to let you know what kind of match we both deserve. You won't let something as pesky as rules and etiquette interfere, will you now?" His competitive edge drowned out any hollering from the crowd.

"Not as long as I don't get caught," I replied back easily. I didn't add that I could kill him...that might have been a bit difficult to explain. Not impossible, though. His tight smile mirroring mine as we saluted, spun, and counted off.

He got to attack first. I took a deep breath and positioned myself, ready to defend. His first spell ricocheted off my barrier...it had been a simple Flipendo charm. He was now anxiously preparing his defense. My eyes narrowed. He wasn't interested in taking me out quickly...he was testing to see what I would throw at him first and making sure he had a strong defense. How logical, how safe. How Simon.

It went on like this for quite awhile. It seemed like hours, though I am sure it wasn't nearly that long. We traded spars, varying tempo and rhythm, ranging from charms and hexes to defense positions and fierce attacks. We each got hit a few times; once mine went through his barrier. Yet none of it was enough to disarm the other.

Sweating, I wondered how much of a gamble it would be to take a hit. There wasn't enough time between defense and attack positions to complete a really powerful spell. If he tossed out a simple boil curse, I could bear it for long enough to knock him out. Of course, he could also flatten me off the platform instead. So far, there hadn't been enough of a pattern in his attacks to tell.

"_Reducto__!_" Okay...good thing I had decided to shield. The force of his attack still made me stumble. I could imagine Zwipp wincing. Technically, we weren't supposed to try and blast each other apart, but it was good entertainment I supposed. Zwipp also must have seen the shield. How kind. The worst that would have happened was a blown hand or two. Nothing too extreme about that, surely.

I was furious with Simon, but I wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was that he tried to disarm me, literally. More likely, it was that he was proving to be such a good opponent. If we kept on like this, we would tie. Zwipp wouldn't stand for another Incendio spell, and Simon and I had invested far too much to give up now. We would trade minor hexes till we were forced to stand down. Neither one of us could have stood that.

The Incendio spell hardly seemed necessary. His face was red, his eyes smoking. It was an ugly sight, one that looked like smoldering ash. As if someone had burned in the coal eyes with a poker onto the steaming red flesh.

Burned.

Flesh.

That was it.

I raised my wand, its tip trembling with power under my strong grasp. I waved it once, speaking the words low, right from my heart.

"_Morsmordre__!_"

Simon immediately bent over, clenching his left arm. I saw wild confusion in his eyes. His barrier had been strong; it should have withheld any spell we had learned.

But not spells I had created. Slowly his eyes cleared as the knowledge dawned on him. Everyone else was twisting with puzzlement, unsure what had happened. Simon just looked at me, hatred glowing over his defeat. He could barely stand, his barrier melting away. I increased the pain with a small flip of my hand.

And I finished with, "_Stupefy!_"

The awards ceremony followed, hollow and superficial compared to the satisfaction I felt. Another shiny ribbon was nice. Defeating Simon was priceless.

The one downside was the Slytherin backlash. After Simon's treatment of Sophie and my mysterious victory over Simon, mutterings of cheating and foul play were heard throughout the hall. I am sure Dumbledore would have loved to hear it, but he had been missing from the whole event. That surprised me, considering what a close eye he had been holding over me.

I was deep in contemplation of that when Annie came over. Her face appeared calm and determined, but her fists were clenched so hard her tiny knuckles were white. It was as if she were struggling to hold something inside. Her lips pressed, she managed to get out, "You did well."

I gave her a pleasant smile. "Thank you. How is the princess?"

She grimaced. "I deserved that." She looked down. "You must think I'm terribly ignorant and selfish."

_Yes. Among other things._ "I think you are young and idealistic. And impressionable."

Her large eyes rose to meet mine. "Oh, Tom. I just...want to figure things out. Nothing makes sense."

"Welcome to reality."

"No one seems to see this but you." Her frustration was evident.

"No, they see it," I said charitably. "Unless they are simpletons, which can't be discounted. More likely, people ignore the facts. They need the myth of inevitability, either that good is constant and evident, or that there is nothing good in the world and nothing they do can matter. That both myths exist proves their falsity." She gave a small laugh, but her expression was one of clear sadness. I fought not to roll my eyes as I offered, "Don't wallow in self-pity. It's beneath you."

She shook her head, saying softly, "It's not self-pity, Tom. I feel sorry for you. When no one understands me, like over this summer with Hagrid, I feel so lost and alone. And no one gets you, Tom. Sometimes I think I understand you better than anyone, that you make things so clear. But at other times..." I fought to maintain eye contact with her. She continued. "At other times, you are the hardest person to reach. You don't give concrete answers..."

"There aren't concrete answers."

"You can make me question every single thing about myself, Tom. And it terrifies me, and it excites me. You made me face the fairy tower and walk away. Do you even have anything in you to question?"

I remained silent.

Simon strolled up then, leaning over to answer coldly, "What's in him is power. There isn't a deeper foundation than that." But I knew he answered to the same call. We always would.

Annie turned back to me. "Then teach it to me."


	27. Chapter 27: Veritas Lux Mea

**Chapter 27: Veritas Lux Mea**

Come_ on_, everybody!" The day before the Christmas holiday was always chaotic. The green leather couch that resided in the center of the room had been pushed at an awkward angle by many strewn suitcases. The remains of gift-wrappings scattered the floor; no Slytherin waited for Christmas to open up the presents they had purchased for each other. The fire blazed merrily, dancing off the excited and worn faces of students who had survived the semester intact. The only one not content and giddy was Sammy.

She stood before the fire, the flames only enhancing her frustrated flush. Quill in hand, she was trying to gain the attention of a hundred bustling students at once. A large banner was set behind her, half-filled with notes and drawings. It was a well-wishing gift to the resistance Aurors of England. Every house was completing one, and they were to be sent out over the break. Having put it off for several weeks now due to finals, both Sammy and I were now rushing to have it completed. There were slogans such as, "_Fight for Right!" _or,_ "Down with the Dark Arts!" _The level of interest the students had for this project mirrored the level of heartfelt creativity in their messages. If one of them had spent more than five minutes on theirs, I'd be shocked. I couldn't blame them, though. Mine had taken ten minutes only because Sammy hounded me to change it. Originally, my quote had been, "Justice: A Decision in Your Personal Favor." I had never intended to leave it, but it had been amusing to see her shriek.

Noticing the little effect she was having, Sammy muttered, "_Sonorous!_" A moment later, she screamed at the top of her lungs, "Shut it!" Her normal bellowing magnified by the spell caused all eardrums to vibrate. Everyone stopped, wincing and checking any glass for signs of shattering. But they did stop.

Pleased, Sammy pocketed her wand and said, "Good, little residents. Now, if you have already signed the banner, you may go. If not, get your bloody hides up here."

"Ever the lady," I said, moving aside as the students quickly moved to follow her command.

"I didn't see you doing anything," she pointed out, raising her eyebrow at me.

"Ah yes. Well. I suppose I do not share your genuine enthusiasm for important activities such as this."

"No, you're too busy snogging with that Weasel." Her tone was biting.

Her remark came as a surprise to me, I hate to admit. "I beg your pardon?"

Her eyes slid over mine, glassy in the fire's reflection. "Snogging...or whatever it is you do with it."

"Annie?" I couldn't keep the amusement out of my expression. "You think I'd touch Annie?"

She shrugged, a bit off her game. I could see by the tilt of her head that she was retreating in her attack. "Well, it's anybody's guess. You're with her in the library practically every school night. And I doubt you could hold many intelligent conversations with her." She must have caught my odd expression, for she was immediately on the defensive. "Don't get angry. What were we to think?"

"No, no, I'm not mad. Indeed, what were you to think?" I replied. I let the smile I had been struggling to contain break out. "Who thought this?"

Sammy flushed, apparently recognizing she had gravely missed the mark. "Well...everyone. No, that's not true. Simon didn't. But everyone else wondered. I mean, you took Myrtle to the dance! Damien thought you were doing it for a lark. I mean, seeing the family she comes from, it wouldn't be surprising if she were a poor floozy. And haven't you noticed how she blushes with her friends when you are near...and how all the Gryffindors look at you like they either want to kill you or welcome you as one of their own?"

No, I hadn't. Oh, Annie I knew had some silly crush. That much had been easy to pick up on and utilize. She had been most useful in the library this semester. She was able to get all the books I desired, without the watchful eye of Dumbledore following me. She had done everything I had asked, with eyes wide and bright at anything I said. Yes, she was fairly obvious. But was the rest of the school that thick, to be taken by such a shallow bit of gossip as this? Apparently so. Nothing is swifter than rumor, not even truth.

A petty side of me wondered if Dumbledore had heard this and if he believed it. Before I could contemplate this new idea, Simon drew me from my musings. "Tom wouldn't touch anybody. He's a eunuch. Didn't you know?"

"If I don't, at least it's by choice in my case," I replied coolly to him.

He gave a frigid glare right back. "Yes, and why is that? Who chooses that? Sick if you ask me. You should go into therapy, but you can't afford it. Well, maybe I can help. Talk to me. Come on, Tom, what did Daddy do to you at night?" His words hung, as if too dense to evaporate with air.

"You are very, very stupid, Simon. Pathetic and stupid," I said with quiet edge.

"Oh, really? What, are you going to put the perfect curse on me? The perfect hex? Come off it, Tom. You know, I've realized something." His eyes narrowed, their focus locked on mine. "You are a nobody. You're not perfect."

I slid my tongue over my teeth, savoring this inside. "Not perfect, you say?"

"Far from it." He had the ballooned air of the bombast.

"Indeed. And is anyone perfect?"

"No. No one is perfect, not even you. Good of you to realize that." His snide tone was lost on none, least of all my boiling rage.

"Interesting. And yet I am a nobody?"

"That I would agree with. Very much."

"Fine. So nobody is perfect. And I, as you say, am a nobody. Therefore, I am perfect. Flawless philosophical reasoning. How sweet of you. Please excuse me." With that, I brushed by him, trying to quell the painful shredding of my heart. Inside, I began to replace it with the picture of his face just now, humiliated. My heart mended as the picture illustrated itself, adding details such as him begging at my feet for the life with which he was now so careless.

~*~

"You know, people are saying that we are...going out." Annie's nervous voice rang shrill on Christmas morning. We were gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast, watching the snow pile outside of the windows and dropping from the magicked ceiling. The room smelled of sage and pine as I entered and was immediately bombarded by the little Weasley. I tried to focus on the sage and pine.

"Yes."

"I mean, how silly is that?" Her eyes kept darting as she pranced in place. "Right?"

I had no use for her right now. As politely yet quickly as possibly, I replied, "Right." I moved around her, heading for the Slytherin table. She, predictably enough, followed.

"I mean, to assume something like that, where it has no basis in reality..." She kept glancing at me, fishing. I had seen that spark in girls' eyes before. Randy moaned often about it with Sammy. Except in this case, I knew exactly what she desired.

Instinctively I recoiled inside, barriers being raised. Following that initial revulsion, other unpleasant images sprang to mind. Those were far worse than the mild disgust at the thought of Annie in that way. No, it was Simon's mocking words that then rose, worming through the crevices in my mind's barriers. Thrusting that thought away as well as best I could, I tried to change the subject.

"Speaking of assuming things, I will assume that your family bought that beautiful brooch for you for Christmas."

Annie looked down at the horrid red and gold monstrosity that took up half her flat chest. She flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, no...no. Actually it's...well, yes, it is a Christmas gift, but they didn't buy it." Her gaze was slight and halting as she finished. "My mom made it for me."

_It shows._ "No! I never would have thought that."

She blushed, but I could see she was delighted. She would believe any compliment, so strongly did she want to. "No, it's nothing."

"Not for your family. That's right; your mother always makes things for you. Talented woman."_ I wonder if she used her hands or feet? It's hard to tell. Is she colorblind?_

Annie warmed to the new topic, much to my relief. "It's a Weasley family tradition. All Weasleys make gifts for each other, usually the moms. Most of them knit gifts, but my mom makes jewelry. She makes things for Bill as well."

"I'm sure he loves that."

She shook her head in emphatic annoyance. "No, he doesn't! The ungrateful git. He always complains about them behind her back and never wears them. He doesn't deserve the things she makes."

"I can think of few who do," I replied.

She harrumphed a final time, her annoyance completely washing away the previous conversation. Or at least widening the gap to where, even with her social skills, she could tell it would be in poor judgment to backtrack. So we sat in peaceful silence until she finally broke it. "So what did you get?"

"You mean for Christmas?" I asked, stalling.

She rolled her eyes in a perfect imitation of Sammy. I began to wonder if it weren't a Sammy trait, but a universal womanly sign of exasperation. "No, from the House Elves. Yes, for Christmas!"

"Nothing, really," I said evasively. Seeing her interest not wane, I tried another tract. "So tell me more about your family. What is their Christmas—"

"Did you not get anything?" Her eyes widened even as she blurted this out loudly. At my silence, she clamped a hand over her gaping lips. Her surprising moment of innocent yet outraged insight socked me harder than I would have thought. Left speechless, I fought to maintain my solid composure.

She filled in the silence hurriedly. "Oh, Tom, I didn't mean for it to come out like that! I'm just shocked that _anyone_...you see, Christmas is always such a big deal in my family. I could only imagine how horrible it would be, to not get...but there I go again, and oh, I'm sorry, Tom. I really have to learn how to keep my mouth shut, and—"

"It's fine, really," I assured her, clenching my jaw. "I'm not a festive, gift-giving soul."

"No, you're right. It's not the important part of the season. But it reminds me of my family when I look at some gifts."

"Well, that is of little issue with me," I replied, before I had fully thought my remark through.

"What do you mean?" she asked, pouncing on my remark. She always approached any mention I made of myself, especially my past, with rabid hunger. I was normally wary of treading around such topics. "Is it true that you grew up in an orphanage?"

"Where did you hear that?" An alarm rang inside my mind. I certainly had never mentioned anything about the orphanage to her, or anyone, in years.

Her face paled at my sudden darkening. "S-Simon. He told me..."

_Simon._ "You talk to Simon?" I asked neutrally.

"Not really...just a few times. He's helped me with work sometimes. I hate to always bother you, and he offered." Her small lip protruded below her jaw.

"How considerate of him." I wanted nothing more than to thank him with a curse.

"He's nice. Don't you think?" Annie seemed desperate to grasp onto some common ground again with me. Her fingernails kneaded the tabletop before her, turning her pale hands a bright pink.

"Oh, he's something." I sank within myself, leaving a stone shell of a smile on the outside for her to see. But it was a bitter smile. I felt betrayed by her. After all, it was I who had spent so much time invested in her. I had answered her inane issues with patience, trying to mold something out of her for sheer self-interest and amusement. But there had been a touch of pride at times, a glimpse of potential she seemed to thrive on alongside me. I had served her interests as well. And now for her to turn and accept company with Simon...to _approve_ of him! Well, that only went to show how naively simple she was. I longed to tell her what Simon really thought of her. A silly, little girl whose foul breeding shone through her vapidity.

"Is he a friend of yours?" Perspiration shone in a light sheen on her forehead, and I thought her fingertips might start to bleed.

"You might say that." I then paused, deciding how to proceed. "You know, I realize how unfair I have been to you."

Her eyes grew wide, showing the veins intermingling around her irises. "No, never!"

"Oh, yes. Here it is, our third year of knowing each other, and I never told you about myself." I forced my gaze down, trying to look contrite.

"No, Tom." She reached across the table, before flushing and drawing her hand back. Awkwardly she hurried on. "It's alright...a lot of people don't like talking about themselves."

"Yes, but I've kept you in the dark for so long you had to go around me to find anything out."

"No, it wasn't like that!" At her raised voice, gazes were drawn to us from all around. She smiled apologetically at them before lowering her voice. Still, the urgency remained as she finished, "I didn't go to Simon to get...anything...on you."

"Of course not. You would never try to find something out that I didn't desire to make public. A friend wouldn't go behind a friend's back like that." At her deep flush, I knew I had hit her deeply. I nudged a bit further, for I had other agendas. "At least, I thought we were friends."

"We are!" She didn't seem to care about the annoyed gazes she got now. "Oh, Tom, I swear, I didn't mean to go behind your back or anything like that. You were just what Simon and I had in common. I knew you were in his class, and he knew you tutored me, so you just came up."

"I'm sure neither of you meant anything by it."

"No, we didn't. But I –" Her eyes cast downward, taking a moment before bravely forcing them back to meet mine. "I was curious about you. So maybe, I did want to know about you a little bit...but it wasn't intentional, really! And I swear I won't talk about you with him anymore."

"I would appreciate that." I reached across, patting her hand. "But friendship goes both ways. I should tell you some things. I would hate to think you would think I didn't trust you."

Her eyes lit up, sparking in the morning glow. "You trust me?"

"But of course."

"Wow...you don't know how that makes me feel. I trust you, too. So very much. More than Bill, at times." That last part she spoke quietly, even though Bill was on the other side of the Great Hall.

"I can't tell you how much that means to me. Now, why don't you tell me exactly what Simon said about me? So I can...fill in the story." That wasn't my best finish, but Annie bought it easily enough. I listened with a keen rapture at what Simon was saying about me.

"Okay. Well, he said that you didn't come from a wizarding background. That you grew up in an orphanage."

"This is true. Not much to add there."

"And he...he said your parents weren't very nice." From her awkward expression, I could tell those weren't his exact words.

"I see. Why did he feel that?" While I couldn't deny it, I was still enflamed.

"I don't know. He said that was why you stayed at school so much, because you didn't like your family or the orphanage." Under the pressure of my gaze, she finally blurted out, "He said your father was ashamed of you, and that's why he never claimed you. Why he still doesn't claim you as a son of his."

I forced a smile. "Ah, there he is possibly mistaken. My father...gave me up to the orphanage after my mother died. I've never seen him, so he might not even still be alive. And if I don't know anything about him, I doubt Simon does. He is filling your head with a lot of possibilities, Annie." I didn't know what purpose Simon had for building me up as a poor, little, abandoned orphan again, but I was stopping it right here.

Annie's brow furrowed, perplexity blatant in her eyes. "But...I thought..."

"Thought what?"

She shook her head quickly. "Nothing. I – I must be mistaken."

My smile hardened as I fought the temptation to force it out of her with my wand. "Tell me, please. I would hate for you to have any misconceptions about me."

"Okay...well, Simon said that your father was alive." She looked at me very carefully, finishing slowly, "He seemed pretty sure about it."

"I see." My mind was reeling, and tension built in my stomach. How could Simon possibly know that?

"I don't know. He – he sounded pretty sad about it. And angry at your father. He's a good friend. Anyway, he suggested I not mention it to you, because it would probably upset you. I could understand that." Her expression changed to one of guilt. "It never occurred to me that you didn't know."

"I'm sure it didn't occur to him, either." Damn him. _Damn_ him. He knew I would talk to Annie. He knew she would break down and tell me...he probably waited weeks for this to happen. To set this little catalyst off on me. And of course he would make it Annie, my own puppet that I had used to anger him so often in the past. I had to give him a grudging note of respect on that touch.

He knew something; that much was certain. Simon wouldn't throw something like this around without being able to fully back it up to completion. But what that completion was, I hadn't the faintest idea. Humiliating me was certainly only part of it. I had no intention of waiting for the end of break to find out the rest.

~*~

I sat in the common room a few weeks later. I had not lit the fire, for the rage inside of me was blazing warmly enough. I had felt my fury rise since the Christmas morning with Annie, grasping my thoughts during any moment of idleness and swooping into my dreams like dark imps. I had been so distracted I had nearly ruined two potions for Zwipp and over-watered a plant for Dumbledore. I had managed to fix the potions before Zwipp noticed, but not the plant. Dumbledore now watched me with hawkish concern and wished to speak with me privately this week about "several things," as he had put it. I had the feeling it didn't have to do with his plants. I didn't know what really rattled me so. Surely Simon was part of it, but the return of my past was the main focus.

I had checked all my belongings, and nothing was out of place. It perturbed me more that I didn't know how Simon had got whatever information he knew than the fact that he knew it. I had no intention of letting Simon hang over me any longer, not with classes starting again. And so I sat, watching as the students slowly trickled back in. I didn't have any clear plans yet...dealing with Simon was something I had years of practice in. Yet the fact that he had possibly bested me for once was not something my ego would leave unnoticed. Even if he had, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it. I would not let him lord over me back here, where he could watch how I danced to his dangling tune. Whether he desired a showdown or not, I wasn't wasting another night.

Damien came first. As Head Boy, I suppose he wished to be sure things were in order. He greeted me civilly enough, and I didn't detect that he was aware of anything. While there was no immediate malice between us at the moment, I was sure he would show some glimpse of satisfaction if he knew anything. While most of the petty rivalries we had now were dormant, especially the biggest one which had lain dead now for five years, there was residual resentment. Dash's approval meant nothing now, and as that left, so did any personal hatred. Yet the past and our different ideologies had built an impossible impasse for any bridge. The bitter aftermath was neither biting nor personal, but it was present. Time would tell what kind of relationship, if any, the future held for us.

Unlike with Simon, where the festering wounds between us were infected down to our very blood at the moment. I hadn't realized how focused his attack on me must have been for some time now. It was beyond personal, for now the loathing was almost instinctual. Part of it I could commiserate with...even these few weeks where he had a semblance of a hold over me was more than I could tolerate. But for him, my hold was real and long seated. He wanted to make me feel as he did so often, as the pathetic follower, the helpless reactor one step behind. He wanted me to fear him. _It was touching_, I mused scathingly. But far from true. Yes, he had my full attention. No, not as the equal rival, the worthy opponent. Try as he might, I knew him too well. A hindering catch, maybe, but a fitting adversary, decidedly not. It was not my survival fangs that dripped with anticipation. It was the prideful desire to thrust him back down where he belonged. I felt anger at myself for letting him get this far, as opposed to awe at him for simply _amazing_ feats. I longed to reward him for his success. He wouldn't succeed again.

Sammy came with Mary, both of them wearing new robes with an oriental stitching down the sides. They tossed a cheerful hello at me, and it appeared for once they were getting along. Randy came a bit later, and from his indifferent glare, it was hard to tell whether Simon had told him anything or not. If Simon was going to tell anyone, I would have guessed he would pick Damien. Sammy was too sporadic in her loyalties, and Randy's temper was too unpredictable. Stoking Damien's anger back at me would be no small victory for him. Damien was set to work at the Ministry next year, and the Malfoy name, combined with his abilities, would make him a most valuable ally.

But Damien would have been smug, had that glint in his eyes...no, he knew nothing. Maybe Simon wasn't ready to be overpowered, as Damien would surely try to do. He had the resources, and Simon had no leverage on him. But Randy...I would have to keep an eye on Randy.

Then, at last, light footfalls brought Simon under my gaze. His gaze was cool as it settled on me. It was reserved, for it was still Simon. But it held a confidence that shone from a deeper level than I had ever seen on him before. "Hello, Cicero," he greeted me.

"Simon. May I speak with you for a moment?" I half-expected him to be surprised that I leaped right to it.

If he was, he didn't show it. He just said with insufferable tranquility, "Of course. May I put my bags away first?" He gave me a pleasant smile. "It won't take but a minute. If you want, we could talk as I do it."

"I'll wait." I wanted us to be alone. Not batting an eye, he left then at a stroll. He was bating me; I knew it. It still grated, but I forced my mind to think clearly. I unclenched my fists and took in deep breaths. The minutes ticked by, with the booming sound of the large, oak clock. I waited with faux patience for him to return.

When he finally showed up, he wore a simple shirt and trousers. No sweater was seen on him, though it was all but a signature of his to wear one. But that would impair his movement. Practical Simon. Prepared for anything. I gave him a pleasant smile back. "Let's take a walk, shall we?" Like I would risk harming him on school grounds. He was delusional in his own grandeur.

"You're the prefect," he said, with a glib undertone I did not miss. I steered him down the dungeon halls in silence. Shadows played on the stone walls, with a fierce gaiety that is the stuff of children's nightmares. We passed the twisted, narrow halls until we came upon the place where Hagrid had kept Aragog. It was as dark, dusty, and dank as last year. And also as forgotten, lost beneath the bustling school, but for a giant and now us. Even those who knew about it from last year dared not enter the supposed Chamber, though the beast was now supposedly slain.

I saw Simon's gaze roam the room in curiosity and caution. "This is the room with Hagrid, isn't it?"

"Yes." I wasn't in the mood for conversation.

He turned to me then, willfully stepping into the light of a torch. "I hope I prove to be more interesting than Hagrid."

"More annoying, definitely." A flicker of anger ran across his face, but he quickly composed himself.

"And how did your talk with Annie go?" he asked casually.

"It was most telling. Care to elaborate?" I forced an equally nonchalant stance. The more information I could draw out of him, the better. I had no greater joy at the moment than beating him at whatever game he threw out.

"Now, Tom, where would the fun be in that?" he asked coyly.

"I should think it would give you the utmost enjoyment, if you really had any terrible news for me," I threw back.

"Ah, always the ego with you. What makes you think I am solely out to be the barer of sad tales for you?"

"Because that is all you have, Simon. And I'm through with you. You can decide how difficult you want to make this for yourself." I had to pull myself back to keep that threat from manifesting itself.

He laughed. "Difficult? Oh, Tom. Really. Just to slake my curiosity, what did you have in mind? Killing me?" There was joy in his eyes, along with fear. I saw it with a pathetic recognition. He wouldn't go down a hero, even in his own delusion. And he certainly wouldn't bait me into being my own fall. No, best let him survive. Survive, not fearing what revenge I would bestow on him. Rather, let him wallow in the knowledge that he was not even worthy of my revenge.

Swallowing back every instinct, I let my reason flow. "Of course not, Simon. Don't be melodramatic. You hardly rate a killing."

"What then? Hex me?" His smile hardened.

"And have the professors test my wand and see I did it? Hardly. Talk about ego," I said reasonably. He was practical enough to believe that. Why would I risk everything over him? The reality of that fact, though, must have been infuriating to him. I smiled as if I were bemused by his antics, as opposed to feeling a real threat or obstacle from him.

Simon held his emotion back with a prideful façade. "Well, then, if you aren't threatening me, why ever should I be inclined to reveal anything to you?"

"For the only reason possible. To see my reaction. I promise you, if you don't tell me, I will never give you the satisfaction of begging. You can wait till Hell freezes over – if there is a Hell – before I speak of this again. And you know that I'll learn whatever it is you know eventually."

"Hardly," he clenched out.

"If I don't, it can't be that important." I ran the words around him, letting him absorb them with frustration.

"Nice mind game, Riddle. But no go." I shrugged, forcing the tremors I felt inside not to manifest themselves. I stood still, and I guess that showed enough interest on my part for him to try a different route. "However, I would hate to see this little tidbit go to waste. How about a little compromise?"

"What could you possibly want from a Mudblood like me?" I asked with snide frost in my voice.

I saw an old would start to bleed before me. "Simple. I want your filthy _Mudblood_mark off me." He rolled up his sleeve, protruding my mark. "After what I know about you, I can't be degraded with anything to do with you."

"You had no trouble degrading yourself before..."

"Shut it. Quid pro quo. Remove the mark, and I'll tell you about your pathetic past." His rage shone through his tight tone.

His disgust for me was thickly blatant. I had to swallow every inch of pride in me to appear to comply. I longed to call for the mark, to burn it right through him. But that almost seemed too easy, too quick right now. My reason told me I needed him, needed him to finally put my past to rest. Best to play along and keep all options open. I would let his pathetic existence get a nice boost for the time being. The higher he felt, the harder the fall down would be. "Easy enough." I raised my wand and covered up his mark.

He eyed me suspiciously, saying, "Now call for it."

I did so. Little did he know it was not the movement but the motive that called up the mark. He knew my spell by heart, and I recited it to his perfection. When it didn't appear, he breathed a sigh of relief, letting the sleeve droop down. And there my mark remained, burning within, waiting to be conjured out.

He gave a toss of his head, and a look of undiluted condescension crossed his face. I longed to bring him down, but there would be time enough for lesser matters later. I stepped back calmly, and with a raised eyebrow I looked down on him.

His only ground was my past, which he saw as a painful thorn in my side. I was left standing there, with an aching grasp for what he was about to say. But it was not a vacant hunger to reunite with my past. No, little did Simon know he was helping me finally sever that last tie to my weak Muggle past. What he perceived as weakness, I would turn into an unrelenting display of power. I would drive back the last vestiges of anger, sorrow, and shame at my past. Once I knew it all, I could lay it to rest. I would find some way to finally break free literally, as I had spiritually in the Chamber. How, I didn't yet know, but finally no one would have anything to lord over me again.

My father, who I had buried in thought in the Chamber, wouldn't leave me alone. In thought, in spirit...in his very existence, he kept finding ways back. It was without effort that he now reached to pull me down, fate moving in the guise of a vengeful youth. I had rallied against fate for many years, and yet her snare thrust the weight of human sensation upon me with unrelenting force. I couldn't deny it, and as far as I buried it, the feeling seemed to leap into the air to be seen, touched, and tasted. It burned my eyes as much as it left a pleasing taste on Simon's opening mouth.

He turned, not even giving his words a bit of respect as they were thrust down my throat for me to swallow. "Riddle me this, Lord Tom. What kind of father lives with his own child for eleven years, watching him grow up in torment, and _bluntly_ gives his love to another that isn't even his?"


	28. Chapter 28: Retribution is Part Distribu...

Chapter 28: Retribution is Part Distribution

My past lay before me, scattered in bits across the covers of my bed. Moonlight hit the worn cross, burnt passport, and scribbled file of my mother. Only one had been given to me, the other two I had had to fight to secure. And that was all.

I thought about Jiminy that night. The last time I had seen him, he still hadn´t fit into his arms and legs. His smile had been sadder, that time after my first year at Hogwarts. He had said then that he was waiting for the Crevantis to pick him up and take him through the picture in the corner of the office. And then, his eyes would lighten, but only for a moment. I now could only remember them as dim, and even they had become blurry. An age had passed, and so had his memory.

Sean wasn´t at the orphanage anymore to protect him. Sean was older than I... I wondered if he did ever go to live at sea. No, that was a lie. I didn´t wonder, and there was no possibility that he had. He had no skills at being a sailor, and no money to learn. If he even had a job, I would be surprised indeed. Did his pride sustain him now?

A funny thing, a memory is. It´s not thinking. It´s not even remembering. It´s not an act, but an entity all unto itself. It tucks itself away inside everyone, teasing with glimpses of a past twisted and reversed since formed. Sammy once told me about her cat, Mischief. He was enormously fat and haughty and only deemed her grandmother worthy of his purrs. He lived under their brooms, his back always coated with broom polish. She remembers his size clearly, as clearly as she remembers the hunt for a gigantic box to put his body in. She recalled how she had cried in her front yard when her grandmother came up to her with the cat´s still body, having been ravaged by gnomes. A teary funeral was prepared, one whose details she could recall at a moment´s thought. It was bright in her mind, vivid in color and emotion.

The problem was, it never happened. Five years later when she brought it up to her family, they said with some confusion that Mischief had run away. There had been no body. There never was a funeral, with a large box and detailed cushions and hymns sung too high and tight in the throat, as she had claimed. No tears...no truth. A memory she had, yes. But one without an ounce of truth to it. "Funny, isn´t it?" she had mused. "A false memory."

Funny indeed. So had Jiminy ever really looked so bright? Had Sean ever seemed strong? Or were his tears of rage truly tears of grief?

Had Mr. Blunt ever looked like me?

I honestly couldn´t tell. I remember how I thought of him, but not how he appeared. His image was hidden from me now, shrouded behind years of neglect. How had he seemed tired? Was it his voice, or his eyes? His clothing had been old...or had it simply been misused? His approach patient, or hopeless?

Hopeless. Sadistic. Malicious, foolish, uncaring, soulless, hypocritical, pathetic, mocking, sad...satisfied?

With Mrs. Blunt?

Blunt.

Haha. How drolly clever of him. Had he worked on that one? Or was it, by some laughing sneer of fate, the real name of Mrs. Blunt? Had he taken on a woman´s name, if Mrs. Blunt could be called that?

The real name of Trevor. My brother.

I tried that on. My brother. My _half_-brother. Half-brother of a half-life. Worked out correctly, he was as nil to me in blood as he was to me in soul. No, he was born before my father married his mother. But, he had had several months between leaving my mother and knocking up Mrs. Blunt.

Busy man. Busy father. Father.

Mr. Blunt. Mr. Riddle. Mr. Riddle, Sr. No, not exactly. His middle name wasn´t Marvolo, mine was. Had he a middle name? He certainly had known mine. Shoved it down my throat. Too many Toms, indeed.

Around and around went my mind, sometimes sifting and sorting, something racing and burying beneath the memories within it. I could think clearly only to find my mind swirling up the thrusting fog of pain, the soaking ache of my own ineptitude. How long had I searched for this? How many years had I stumbled and tripped along, only to overlook the abomination of disguise before me?

All the while, a darkened night, without a fight, the lonesome man resided.

I laughed at what sounded like the beginnings of a poem in my mind. It sounded high in my ears, leaving me cold as if its pattern had beaten out the warmth my heart pumped into my being.

Lonesome seemed like a good word. Yes, he was alone. Who would have him, truly as he was? A partner of bestiality in his own mind. A deserter. A pathetic thing that had let the mere thought of me run him from his own name, his own identity.

Not even his God would take him. I prayed for that, with my soul on its knees. I cradled my chain, realizing that I had never seen Mr. Blunt wearing one. He couldn´t even face his own lord hanging on a bit of metal. Weak. Pathetic.

And I wore his God on a chain wrapped around me, worn from my hands, to do with as I wished.

Fitting. I enclosed my hate around the cool silver, planning on giving it a proper farewell.

I spared no new feeling on the man or his martyr. The hate was an old wound, tempered but lingering. What I hadn´t shed in blood in the Chamber, time had ebbed away. Like my love for my mother. Unrequited love can only burn in hopeless vanity for so long in a rational mind. It was futile, and it was hindering. The rage only boiled if I let it, but now I had a direction for it to flow through.

It was the same. The love and the hate. Had my father bested them both, when he managed to break free from his sinful tryst with my mother? Did he praise his will power for his ability to avoid our temptation in his desertion? Or, were the thanks given to his God, in his pitiable plea for salvation? He had, after all, given me over to his Devil and this hell for his benevolent Savior. Well, let him now place his sanctimony against the grown blood of Slytherin. And may the best Lord win.

"Have any plans for the summer, Mr. Riddle?" Dumbledore´s voice chirped at me in the halls late that semester.

"A few. I might go visit Mara, the woman I healed in London. Or, see Sammy in Italy. I´m even feeling a bit nostalgic. I might stop by the orphanage."

Dumbledore wore the surprised expression I expected. "Really?"

I shrugged, not intending on leaving him with any firm commitment from me. No firm plans, no easily ruined alibi. "Well, I have no money and the country is at war. There aren´t that many options."

"That´s true." Dumbledore gave me his suspicious glare, which I ignored. He continued, "I suppose it does get rather stifling, staying at Hogwarts year round. But do be careful, Mr. Riddle. The last thing we need is any more devastating news."

"Of course, Sir." I smiled politely and stepped away from him. He was too caught up in Grindelwald to pay much attention to me of late. Not that even if he had it would have done him good.

~Oh, cocky are we? ~

I froze, my heart pumping icicles through my chest in fear. I stopped dead in the hallway, as the voice said, ~Do carry on. Don´t make a scene, little Mudblood. ~

The voice dripped with the sting of loathing. ~Oh, we aren´t so much the Mudblood now, are we? Reinvented ourselves? Impressive. Though I always knew you had it in you. Even before Dumbledore. You´re feeling nostalgic, you remember, right? ~

The orphanage, and the man with the blue robes. I knew he had been Grindelwald. "Did you know?"

~About your father? Oh, yes_._ ~ The voice was flippant. ~I would have told you, but you were so rude to me! You´ll pay, for that. ~

A shriek sounded in my ears, moments before I realized it was mine. My body wasn´t mine to control, but succumbed to the writhing waves of agony brought upon it. Sharp needles impaled my head, and leaden weights whacked my gut and chest. An invisible hand reached down and twisted my insides, wringing it into knots and setting flames to my blood.

~Shriek, little Mudblood. But see, no one comes. Everyone has forsaken you, no matter what form you take. Even I grow weary of you now. Perhaps you will amuse me more later...until then. ~

Light came back to my consciousness first. First it´s warmth, and then the brightness. I forced my eyes open, staring out. And, at a safe distance, members of the school stared back in horror or curiosity. And they only stared.

A friend in need was an unwanted thing, according to Snicks. Nevertheless, he had tracked down to the orphanage for me the day after my encounter with Simon. For that, I would be feel gratitude towards him. Grindelwald´s words left me no more hollowed than life so far had. An emptiness I intended to fill and chock him with, when the time came. But there was an older ill that needed addressing first. One I knew would be more satisfying than any ever to come. For indeed, it would be a beginning. The real beginning.

I knew that every summer at the end of June, Mr. Blunt vacationed away from the orphanage for several weeks. I also knew that Mrs. Blunt and Trevor never went with him on these trips, since they always moped about it. Mr. Blunt said it was for business reasons, and left it at that.

Snicks came back in slithering glee the day we were to leave for summer. Little Hangleton, he informed me. As seen in the passport, it was another place of residence for him, one he apparently still used. Snicks shook his tail as if it had a rattler, and then his proud look shifted as mine hardened. He wouldn´t be accompanying me, he hissed. At least he didn´t lie. He wouldn´t risk a scale for me, which was just as well. I was alone, and what I was about to do was for myself only.

I rode the Hogwarts train back to London with Sammy. From her eyes it was evident Simon had told her about Blunt. From that moment, neither Simon nor I had any contact outside of classes, giving the Slytherin rooms the electric air of instability. No doubt Sammy had sensed it and understood it better than most. She was quiet for once, as if deciding how to play her new knowledge. For myself, I sat in equal silence, fingering my chain in my pocket. It had been years since it had wrapped round my neck, but it had never been far away.

"Your mother was a Slytherin, right?" The question came out very soft, and still her gaze met only the empty bench across from us.

"Does that matter?"

"Yes." Her soft voice carried more weight than I would have thought her flippant self capable.

I gave a shrug, though I knew she couldn´t see me. "Well, you all but accused me of being the Heir of Slytherin last year. That would fit in with your little idea, wouldn´t it?"

Her eyes narrowed, but kept their steady focus away from mine. "You´re mocking me."

"Never."

"Stop it."

I stared at her upon hearing that. "You´re telling me to stop?" My amusement rang out in a cold, high tone. "You?"

"Tom, I - I just don´t know." Her face scrunched in an ugly, pinched pose. I was coming to understand she didn´t handle real conflict well. The strain in the power chain in Slytherin had thickened, especially now that Damien was gone. Sammy, knowing she couldn´t grasp the high spot, was floundering for position and stability.

If any part of her was truly sympathetic, it wasn´t worth the risk to assume. I was therefore withdrew my anger for cautious distance at her next words. "Part of me doesn´t care who your father is. No, I take that back. Most of me doesn´t care. You are the one that cares about it. You´re the one who won´t let it go."

"Let what go? I have never even brought it up," I snapped.

"You carry it around every single moment of every second. It isn´t enough for you that you are the best student Hogwarts has ever seen. That you´re a prefect and now Head Boy. It isn´t enough that all the teachers love you, that the Minister already wants to hire you, that you´re an animagus, that you saved the school, that you got perfect OWLS, that you´ve proven yourself over and over again already -"

"I learned from my past. It´s the only thing its good for." We stared harshly at each other, years of buried arguments rising.

She finally broke the silence. "I think you´ve learned enough. Let it go."

"Charming. It´s like speaking with a parrot of Simon´s. Let what go?" I asked glibly.

"Everything. Simon."

"Everything about Simon?"

"Stop it." Her voice was sharp now, too hard for even me to miss. As if I really were hurting her by not taking her seriously.

"You, carrying the torch of care for another? Samantha, I am shocked indeed. Or are you just afraid that I´m seeking some pathetic revenge on all who Simon blabbed to?"

Her eyes grew cold, but her words were even. "I just think you should be careful." If she knew of anything particular, she wouldn´t say. All the better for her.

"You and Dumbledore. So worried about my well-being. Let me give you some advice then, as is only fair since you so kindly shared yours with me. Make a decision."

I stared into her eyes. "You´re a smart girl. I´m sure you´ll have no trouble, but I´ll give you the summer to think things over. At the end, I am sure things will seem ever so much clearer."

**

At the platform I hid round a corner of the old station. I had no money to take the train, and I didn´t feel like walking to Little Hangleton. Flying seemed a much better option. I breathed deeply and drew my thoughts inward. In a moment, the spell was over.

But not quite. I opened my eyes, and felt the chill of the concrete on my stomach. I tried to push myself upward with my raven wings, but found I could not move them. Nor feel them. I tried to move my feet, but they didn´t work as well. In a panic, I dragged myself along somehow, in a sliding manner that felt scratchy and odd. I was at the level of people´s shoes, and they darted around me as I hastened for a puddle. Glancing down, I was amazed at what I saw before me.

A snake. Myself, as a snake. There was no mistaking it. My mind trembled in curious wonder. I couldn´t recall am instance in history where someone´s animagus had changed...where their very essence had been converted. I breathed in air through my flat nostrils, my tongue flicking at the water. I heard no sound, but felt every pulsing vibration through the ground. It was as if the movements of others were drawn to me, and I converted their essences to meaning.

A raven. The bringer of change, of tricks and magic. A trick or fate...a trick of fate, for I had indeed tricked her several times. A magical change of a self-transformation. I was no longer a bringer of change. I was change itself, and I directed its course myself now. I knew I had become something else.

And what had I become? A snake. A Slytherin, at the core. A cleansing heir. A new changer, who was about to take the position not only given, but also earned in blood. The tears of blood would flow forever, from me. For all.

For Little Hangleton. I honestly expected more from it. I had slithered onboard the train, making the days´ journey only to be dropped off in a place called Great Hangleton. I already could see the people had delusions of grandeur...if this little cesspool was Great Hangleton, I could only imagine what Little Hangleton would be like. All I saw in Little Hangleton´s great neighbor was a sea of blank faces, a stone police station, and a marketplace near the station. The policemen swaggered around, with more character in their uniforms than in their actual personage. I overheard someone say that the police wagon was broken down again..."Hope nobody needed help outside of a mile radius!" they joked.

Little Hangleton faired worse. I am sure some, particularly the inhabitants, might have called it quaint. All I saw was an underdeveloped hideaway. A pub seemed the main center of activity, which certainly said something about the personage who lived there. I slid around for a bit, ending up on the creaking boards of the entrance to the pub. The Hanged Man was its name, burned into a piece of rickety wood that hung at an angle over the splintered door.

For such a memorable outside, the inside of the pub was surprisingly clean. A bit sparse and morose, but not a filthy pit. I could stand in it without worrying what I might catch...and what I might catch it from. I didn´t even see a rat. There were a handful of inhabitants found inside. Grizzly long-timers, twitchy young men off business, and several woman just coming on as the night hour began. Over the bar hung stolen street signs, a few dingy paintings, and a banner that read, "Careless talk costs lives." It was a common enough war slogan throughout Britain.

"Can I help you, hun?" A throaty voice filled with the scent of peppermint and smoke blew by me. I turned to see a woman dressed in an apron wearing flat heels. I assumed she was a hostess or waitress.

"Is this your pub?" I asked.

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. "Mine? Oh, Lord, no. I just work here. Normally I have a name tag, but my daughter took it to play with. Anything to keep her quiet." She gave me a weary smile. "Name´s Dot."

"Simon," I said. Looking about, I replied, "Friendly place."

She gave a bark of laughter that didn´t become her. "You don´t know the half of it, sonny. Whole town´s in a depression, both figuratively and literally. Only one with something to smile about is those Riddles."

My heart leaped and hammered. "Riddles?"

Dot nodded, ushering me to a nearby table with some shells and a used napkin on it. "Yup, the infamous Riddles. Own a house up the hill over there." She pointed out a window to the south. "They might as well live here, the practically own everything. They came in years ago, when the town began to go under. Skinned every honest man here, and now are war profiteers. Lousy people. Feel sorry for them, though." She shook her head.

"Why?" I couldn´t hold the question back.

Dot sighed and gave a glance at the barkeep. His attention was elsewhere, so Dot eagerly pulled up a seat next to me. Gossip lit her smudged face as she began her tale. "Oh, it was quite awhile ago now. Before I was born, even. The Riddles were a wealthy family, but lets just say, money doesn´t buy everything." She gave me a knowing wink. "The lady Riddle, Clara van den Moore originally, couldn´t conceive. They tried for the longest time, but nothing worked. Finally, the doctors said it might be the stress and bad fumes of the city. So, Mr. Riddle moved his wife where the environment was cleaner, and where he was starting to make a profit."

"Here," I said.

Dot nodded. "Right here. Anyway, before long, they finally got pregnant."

"Lovely."

She wagged her finger at me. "Ah, but Mr. Riddle was often away on business...when he was home, he spent most of his time here. Not that I blame him, Clara _is_ a insufferable witch."

I smiled at he use of phrase. "I know someone like that. Several people."

"Oh, honey, you are too young. Anyway, Soon afterwards, they fired their cook, just like that!" She snapped her fingers. "Now, Clara had a terrible temper and Mr. Riddle usually deferred to her to keep her screeching down. She fired most people, but still, there was always talk about who really fathered little Tom..."

"Little Tom." A smile curled up my mouth. Even though it was most likely rubbish town gossip, my father had grown up under the stigma of being a bastard.

"Adorable name, isn´t it? Anyway, Little Tom had so many troubles! He was an introverted, peculiar little boy. He seemed slower than his peers in most things. Most assumed it was retribution by God for Clara´s sinful tryst with the cook. It wasn´t until his later school years that his grades picked up. Mr. Riddle was beaming, of course. Little Tom went to university, and we all thought God´s anger had subsided. But..."

She held her pause dramatically, brushing her hand through the air. "Suddenly, he showed up with this young lass!" My heart clenched as she continued, really getting into her tale. "Well, he never saw Tom with a girl before...we all just assumed, well...that he was _different_ in that sense. But no, here was this little lady, who wore the most bizarre fashions. She was from France or someplace. They dress oddly there."

"Do they?" I hoped my lack of interest would spur her on to finish her story.

"Oh yes," Dot said with an authority she certainly didn´t have from experience. "Anyway, Little Tom dropped out of college, claiming he was to marry this young thing."

"Why?" I couldn´t help myself again.

Dot seemed surprised by my question, and then laughed. "For _love_, sweetie! Oh, come, you´re not too young to know about such things, I´m sure." She gave me a teasing grin.

I ignored the taunt. "She...they...loved each other, then?"

Dot shrugged, as if this were an inconsequential part of the story. "I´d assume so. He walked about all dreamy...like he was under a spell."

"I highly doubt that," I said coldly.

"Ah ah ah...just you wait and see," she teased with a wagging tongue. Then her expression took on the faux pity of one who secretly relished the troublesome parts of the tale. "Anyway, his parents were just furious. She was a heathen, a monster, they said. Honestly, no one really knew what they were talking about. They didn´t discuss it with us. Some said she might not be Christian, and that was the trouble. Others said things far worse."

"What things?" I could imagine.

"Well, that she was...unnatural. A demon, a witch. Just when God forgave them and Little Tom had a future, someone snatched it away. The devil´s work."

"Sounds like a vengeful God," I said.

Dot shook her head at such blasphemy. "You young people. The Lord is mysterious, but loving. His ways are right. No, it was the work of a demon or devil."

"Fine. What happened?" She wasn´t worth arguing with.

"Well, one day he just came back. Said he saw the light, and was drawn away from her downward spiral. Some said it was because he had a half-demon child with horns and four arms. He seemed a bit sad, then. Always has since. But he embraced religion like a fervent reborn. He begged forgiveness from all, including his family. I thought he might become a priest, but the Lord saw other plans for him. He was blessed with finding a new family, one that needed him. He dedicated his life to saving helpless children, running an orphanage. Although his new wife is of lower birth, which Clara still sneers at, I think its wonderful how it all turned out. It is sad, though, for many. I wonder what happened to that odd girl of his?"

"I´m sure she got what Mr. B...Riddle wished. Thank you, Dot. That was a very...informative story." I pushed my chair back and stood.

Dot waved me back. "Wait, don´t you want a drink or something to eat? You look famished!"

"I always do. No thank you. I just stopped by to get some rest. I´ve just returned from school, and I´m anxious to see someone."

"Ah, a pretty young lass!" Dot´s eyes became dreamy. "Ah, young love. I remember it well." Then she heard a slam from the entrance and turned. Frowning at what she saw, she said, "Bugger all."

"What?" I wasn´t sure I really wanted to know.

Dot shook her head. "Nothing for you to worry about. It´s just Frank. He works for the Riddles, actually. Seems he´s just come off work in his usual good mood. Honestly, those people could make a clown cry. I´d best go serve him. Say hi to your lady from me. And come visit soon!"

And with that, Dot was off to acquire the newest bit of gossip. It seemed the only thing sustaining her in this desolate surrounding. The lights began to hang low...I had best be off.

So south I went, where upon a hill sat what appeared a black orb with the sun´s beaming shadowing its form and detail. I slipped back into snake form and slithered along the rocky, cobbled road leading up the hill. As I drew closer, a house took form. A house with a shingled roof and a wide yard meticulously cared for. A garden and vegetable patch grew, and blooms surrounded the fence. I slid easily through the bars, and up to where a door appeared. An ordinary door, not as majestic as even the classroom doors at Hogwarts. It had brass fixtures and a knocker in the shape of a dragon.

It was firmly locked, but a nearby window was cracked open, letting in the sultry summer breeze. I slithered inside, noticing how cool the floor of the house was. It was clean and dark, with a faint lemon smell. Off in a distance, I heard echoing voices. Me snake heart almost beat off my scales...although far-reaching and fogged, it was a voice I had remembered. A lilt I could never forget. And no, I was now sure it did not sound like me in the least.

I followed the voices...one high and nasal, one low timbered and tired, the last broken and sad. It was coming from the dining room, I discovered. I crept into a small incave in the wall, watching from that distorted angle the three Riddles.

Clara Riddle was everything I had pictured from what Dot had said. She was thin and tight-lipped, with eyes containing a constant scorn. Her thin arms folded around her silk blouse, and she kept sniffing whenever either male Riddle spoke. In the distance, I heard a record player scratching some classic music, giving the entire atmosphere the somberness it cried for.

Riddle, Sr. was a plight for my eyes. Even in his late years, he was tall and gaunt, age giving him more angles than girth. His hair was striking black where it wasn´t gray, and his eyes were blue and sharp.

So where Little Tom´s...blue, at least. But dull, like I remembered. He had the distorted frame I remembered, as if his genes were fighting with his habits to retain their skinny form. His clothing was old, and I smelled the dust from my crack in the wall. He was everything I remembered, and yet...so much more. Or less.

"And how is...Penny?" Clara´s voice was dry as she swirled a drink.

"Victoria," Mr. Riddle said evenly, to which his wife shot him a glare.

Little Tom looked like I imagined I did when caught with Dumbledore. "Vicky´s fine. So is Trevor. You should see him."

"Yes, well, so should his father," was Clara´s snippy reply. "Who was it again, some sailor?"

"A cook?" was Mr. Riddle´s scathing retort, directed more at his wife than a guess at Trevor´s parentage.

Little Tom´s eyes gained some edge. "I am Trevor´s father," he said coldly to his mother. I fought back an urge to strike at him. I breathed deeply, forcing myself to listen to the conversation while the fury built inside me. "Victoria is my wife, and we are a family. You´d think, after all these years, you would give in just a little -"

"To what?" snapped his mother. "To your attempt at retribution? What, was your childhood so bad you needed to punish us for the rest of our lives? First, with that - that freak, that abomination of Satan -"

"Salome was a mistake," Little Tom said quietly. Bowing his head, he replied, "A regrettable mistake."

"Are there any other kind?" Mr. Riddle asked. "Son, we have no problem with you bringing Victoria here...well, I don´t. It´s the most we could hope for, after that witch..."

"Must we speak of it every time I come?" Little Tom appeared dull, his soul wearied beyond respite. "Why do you insist that I visit every summer? To remind me of the worst time of my life? I apologized, to you, to God..."

"There is nothing you can do," Clara said harshly. "Rummaging around with filth like her...almost _spawning_ with that thing. Could you imagine if you brought such a retched creature into the world?"

Little Tom closed his eyes. "No... not anymore."

"You always were a caring soul, son. But some things are damned beyond saving. Creatures like that are to be pitied, and disposed of as quickly as possible. It´s the only humane thing to do. It´s all they can understand. The Lord saw that, and rewarded you for it." Mr. Riddle said this with a warm sympathy.

"Yes. It was not up to me. A creature like that...cannot exist." Little Tom spoke words he had convinced himself were true. "I wish it had never happened."

"We all do, son. The whole world does. It is up to us to take care of the creation God implanted, and while you strayed, you returned. Sin like Salome and her seed are better off dead. Hell shall welcome them for their misdeeds, for the wickedness of their creation." Mr. Riddle sat back at the end of his speech, swirling his brandy around. In a far more casual tone, he offered, "Well, I´m glad we covered that nonsense again. Did you hear, Tom, that our steel mill procured a seventy percent profit last year? Remarkable. Looks like we can go for a long vacation this summer to visit your relatives in Holland, Clara. If this war could just bloody end."

"A bloody end sounds about right." I heard my voice, quiet and calm. I had returned to my human shape...what I at least called a human.

Mr. Riddle frowned, twisting and glaring at the shadows where I stood. "Frank? Is that you? I thought we told you to fix the shed, you can´t possibly be done. I´ve had more than enough of -"

"Quietus totalus."

Mr. Riddle shouted...but nothing came out. His eyes bugged and he grasped desperately for his throat. Clara shrieked, leaping from the table with more flexibility than I had thought possible in her rigid body.

I gave her a smile. "If you don´t stop speaking right now, I will charm your lips to eat your head. _You_ would most likely choke." Clara kept screeching until I pointed my wand at her. Then her face turned still and she slunk silently into her chair.

"Good Muggles," I said.

A choke was heard behind me. I then turned to my father...the Little Tom. His face was blank, and his mouth kept silently gaping like a fish. His lips finally managed to speak, "Muggles..." No doubt it was a word he hadn´t heard in a long time indeed. He sat there, shivering, fear and sickness blatant on his face. But no one reached out to comfort him. How truly similar we were indeed.

"You know. Non-demons."

"Oh, dear Lord," Clara whimpered, cowering behind her shredded napkin that she held in her tiny, shaking fists.

I raised my eyes at that. "Yes, your Lord. Where is he?" I made a show of spinning around, searching the room. "Where is your savior? The great protector, the comforter of all who suffer. Perhaps he is on vacation? Or, maybe he is rusty, since he can´t even seem to dispel a dictator from your Germany. Or maybe," I turned back to my father at that, "He doesn´t care so much about you as you thought. Wouldn´t that be a cruel joke indeed?"

"What are you?" Little Tom whispered. Revulsion shook his face into a frenzied glare, with spittle descending from the corners of his mouth. "What damned thing are you?! Leave my family alone, for the last time!"

"You´re family? You´re _family_?! You call _this_ your family?" I fought to regain control. "And what a family it is. You are right about that."

I turned to glare at Riddle Senior. He was bucking in his chair, hands still at his throat. The stare he gave me was one of revile, and of fear. A finely chiseled fear thrust straight at my eyes with a defiance that dared me to strike him further.

I was more than willing to accept the dare, when my cool reason interjected. There were widows all around the room...Turning, I nodded my head at the stairs. "Move. Now."

In silent terror, Clara stood, reaching for her husband´s hand. Mr. Riddle moved in front of her, blocking her from the demon that was me. How chivalrous...I waved them apart. Seeing an act of kind nobleness on any of their parts was too ill-fitting, raising a flood of bile in me. Little Tom followed them, his eyes roving for the nearby doorway.

"One move and I´ll kill your son," I said softly. Little Tom spun round, eyeing me, searching for my bluff. He saw none, and quickly followed his parents up the stairs. I shifted them into another dark room, this one more cramped and ignored than the others. Old trunks lay scattered, along with a coat rack, desk, and two sofas. It was one of the idle, useless rooms of the rich. What did they care, they didn´t have to take care of it. It need only look big, pretty, and could be as damn useless as it desired.

Standing there in the chilled corner, Little Tom threw back in a voice as cold as mine, "What do you know of my son?"

"Which one?" I thrust back with more venom and hate than I acknowledged. It came out in cool, lazy tones, with my hatred freezing to ice between us, chilling the air near where I spoke.

All three Riddles paled, growing smaller as if the earth was swallowing them. I continued, watching them shrink before me. "The begging bastard you were saddled with, or the demon seed you kept by your side for eleven years?"

Clara shrieked, and I said in vague annoyance at Mr. Riddle, "Engorgio!" Immediately he began to balloon up, his face turning purple and twisting in agony. I let it run for a bit, saying to Clara, "If you don´t shut up for the last time, Madame, I promise you, you´re husband will die. Do you really wish to be responsible for that? No? I didn´t think so. Now silence."

"Tom."

The word came out slowly, just as slowly as I turned to face him. He said it again, stronger. "Tom...Marvolo...Tom..."

"Yes." My eyes met his. "Aren´t you the clever one."

He no longer looked afraid, only repulsed. "Is it really...oh, God...I should have...I should..."

"Have treated me better? Yes, I should say so."

"No." His voice was quiet, but with the solidity of a rock as he thrust at me again and again. "Not that."

"Then what? Never brought me to the orphanage?"

"Killed you for sure when you hadn´t died the first time." He stepped up to me, his eyes alight with the flame of passion. He appeared more alive than I had ever seen him in his anger. "You´re mother ran when she drank the poison the doctor gave her. She drank it willingly, by the way. Then she got scared, begging me to go with her to your freakish world to stop the abortion, but I had had enough. I knew of her evil ways, and I was intent on repairing my life. So I left her to her cult games. I was sure you would die, anyway. When I heard you hadn´t, I at least thought you´d be too deformed or destroyed to do any damage, so I took you in. And then, I quickly realized how deformed you were. You were a worse abomination than your mother. But I tried, against everyone´s wishes. Even those who didn´t connect me with you knew of your putrid birth. But you were beyond damnation, Marvolo. I prayed to God for you, but even He, though I am sure he wept, saw you were not something of Him."

"I am better than him," I said with a steely edge.

All the Riddle´s sucked in their breathes at that, as if afraid the air I breathed would be poison to them. But Little Tom droned on, his frenzy rising. "What did you think, that I´d fall at your feet and beg your forgiveness? That I would cry for your mercy? You made your choice years ago, Marvolo. I owe you nothing. I only owe my repentance to others that you exist."

I glowered, my chest heaving so hard I thought my rib cage would break. He was a sad, pathetic man. He didn´t know what he was saying. He was speaking in fear, in fear of what I was. Because he knew how great I was, knew the power than ran through my veins. It was ludicrousy and delusion that stirred him .His taunts were the bites of a rabid dog out to take down all who stood near him in one last strive for leaving an impact. I would not give that to him. I would not let his words strike me...pierce me...this wretched soul, this ignorant would who blindly swallowed sanctimony as comfort. I would rip it away, as he had ripped away every second of my life he had filled. I was suddenly happy he had a family, for it meant that he had something very dear to lose.

"I am afraid that you will owe that repentance to many by the time I´m through. Avada Kedavra!" I turned and pointed at the elder Riddles, the huddled old crones. I saw the whites of their eyes blaze bright in the dark, alight from the energy pulsing from my wand to their hearts. I saw them gasp, and cry, and reach outward to each other...and fall...just outside of each other´s grasp.

Not even a beat passed before I dismissed them. "Unfortunately, none of them will be alive for you to apologize to," I said.

An undeniable fear crossed my Little Tom´s face...making him little indeed. In a strangled voice, he said, "What was I to do? Do you think any of this would have turned out differently? That you would have had a nice, happy family? If I had claimed you as my son, do you think anyone would have accepted you anyway? You´re mother and I would have been hung, you would have been in an orphanage anyway, or most likely, killed...I tried to do you the least amount of harm."

"Shut up!" I shouted. I couldn´t listen to his reasoning anymore. It was sick and it was manipulative, a pathetic case built on such false foundations that I longed to wrench the truth out of him. I was prepared to do just that, the curse was on the tip of my tongue, when he spoke again.

"It wouldn´t be any different. I came to realize that long ago. It finally gave me peace. The Lord won´t let you harm my innocent son, but to me, do what you will. No matter what you do, I shall be at peace, with myself and with my Lord."

I stepped over to him, finding him at eye level. A wrecked man, a desperate man... a contented man. The shards of his self were held together by a single strand, one he thought too impenetrable to dissolve. But I knew that there was nothing that couldn't be struck... and it was with an aching, vengeful pride, an instinctive strike that was aimed to perfection, that I ravaged the last anchor of hope to which his soul clung.

"How tragically unfortunate is the timing of your confession of blind faith. You see, I killed your Lord. And your son." The lie about Trevor rolled easily out, causing Blunt's face to show horror and denial. I did not let up, tossing spitefully, "and though I do hate to give you credit, I did inform Trevor I couldn't have done it without you. Rest in peace with that." I dropped his cross on the ground, watching his eyes fall with it.

I waited. I was patient. And then, "Avada Kedavra... and what the hell. Amen."

**~Amen indeed...~**


	29. Chapter 29: Dark Lords Incorporated

**Chapter 29: Dark Lord Incorporated**

"That's just...amazing..." Bill's eyes were orbs of wonder as he stared at me. The train rattled forward, its rhythmic pacing lulling many to a softer heartbeat.

"I know," I replied. "I never thought it would actually happen. It's just..."

"Amazing," Bill interrupted, still shaking his head in shock.

"Indeed."

"And you did it?" His head lifted to stare at me as if I were some odd beacon of power.

"Well, I had help. I couldn't have done it without..."

Just then Sammy burst in. Her eyes were clearly guarded and nervous as she approached me. Still, she said, "You...bugger...this is...this is..."

"Amazing?" I asked dryly.

_"Yes_!" She relaxed, doing a small dance right on the Hogwarts train. "You..._how _did you manage it? How did you get us our own prefect bathroom! With a _Jacuzzi_?"

"Well, I don't know if we really have a Jacuzzi yet," I said. "But I simply reasoned with Dippet...if we are going to work so hard for the school, we might as well reap some conciliatory rewards. I think a unisex bathroom achieves that." I shared a smile with Bill.

"Mm," Bill replied dreamily. "Audrey Franco...in a Jacuzzi...with me...bless you, Tom." Audrey was a seventh year Gryffindor and the Head Girl. When she didn't speak, she was pleasant to be around.

I grinned graciously and shrugged, sharing in the pleasant moment on the outside. Inside, there wasn't a part of me that wasn't screeching in nervous pain.

_~Anxious, are we? Afraid dear old Dumbledore will see us as a murderer and not an Angel of Vengeance? Don't worry...I shan't let him harm you. Not yet.~_

"Tom?"

I jerked my head upright, feeling a sheen of perspiration accumulate across my tensed forehead. Sammy was staring at me, her brown eyes unable to allow me to see me reflection in them. "Yes?"

Sammy twisted a bit, her upper lip drawn back in defense. Still, she managed to say with some dignity, "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course." I stood and followed her out of the prefect compartment. Amazingly enough there were several regular compartments vacant. The toll of Grindelwald was preventing many new students from being enrolled. News of victims came in hourly, and many of his followers were frightened back to him. It alarmed me for an entirely different reason that I suspected haunted many.

We settled into one in the back, facing each other as we had so often in the past. I remained quiet, letting her speak. The sun reflecting through the window off her highlighted her discomfort. "I...I thought about what you said at the beginning of summer," she replied. Her voice was calm...it was as if she had practiced this speech. She probably had.

"Good girl," I replied.

"You know...you really can be the cruelest git at times." Her pride pricked, she was not above a fight. Admirable.

"I'm sorry. You were saying?"

"You can't imagine what this summer has been like..." she began.

"No, probably not. So why don't you tell me?" My eyes followed her pacing with a calm amusement.

She turned to face me then. Genuine fear was in her face, with tears brimming in her eyes. It was quite a change from the Sammy in the prefects' compartment only moments ago. She said, "I won't choose between you and Simon. I have no reason to."

"I'm sure you know best."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't know everything that happened between you two. All I know is that he found out whom your father was and that he was a Muggle. That news isn't the best, but it certainly wasn't deserving of the hate there is between you both. I don't understand it, and I don't want to, and therefore it really isn't fair of you to threaten me! I won't let either of you bully me."

"I never bullied you. You have notions of grandeur, dear. I merely said you should decide where your loyalties lie. I don't like having a friend who speaks of me behind my back and questions my integrity. Simon detests me, goes out of his way to cause me pain. If you are truly a friend of mine, you wouldn't wish to be around someone who treats me like that." I made a motion to leave.

"That isn't what you said," she replied, stopping me. "That isn't what you meant."

"What I said and what you interpreted I meant are two very different things. I said those exact words, and you took them as a threat. I can't go back in time and replay the scene with you in my mind to see my intentions. All I can do is say what they were, and you can either believe me or not. You seem to believe very little of me of late, so this is not surprising."

"I don't..." She paused, collecting herself. I saw her mind working to keep up. She finally gave a growl of sorts. "You're impossible."

"If you say so."

She couldn't help but smile. "Fine...I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. I never knew my friendship meant so much to you." Her eyes held a hint of subtle amusement. She hadn't completely bought my words, but she couldn't figure out a way to refute them. I suspected she wanted to believe me, anyway. Continuing, she offered, "Your friendship means the same to me."

Because she wasn't so stupid as to be on my bad side. I knew she had a clever side somewhere. I smiled back. "Ever so glad we are on the same page, love." Her pride was salved, and she was set where she wanted. Away from Simon. Yes, smart little girl. I hoped for her sake she remained this prudent. "I would hate for any worse misunderstandings to occur...they can get so nasty."

Her smile tightened a bit, but she kept her voice light. "Oh, I agree."

We both sat down again, and she broke the silence. "So how was your summer?"

"Refreshing," I answered.

"Really?" She looked a bit surprised.

I gave her a slightly inquisitive gaze as I said, "You seem surprised by that."

She responded with a shrug. "Oh, it's just...you don't look very refreshed." Her eyes traced my face as she continued, "You look worn out."

_~Hm...why would that be? Did I forget to let you sleep this week?~_

I shrugged. "I feel wonderful. How was your summer?"

She groaned in the theatrical way that was wholly hers at Hogwarts. "Absolutely dreadful, as usual. We are not French. Why do we go to France every summer? We don't speak the language, we've seen the bloody sights, and we can get the food just as well in Italy. _Why? _You're so damn intelligent; can you explain it?"

I had to laugh, though my insides were still clenched from Grindelwald's voice. "Never having been to France, I cannot adequately comment on its lure. Perhaps the accent?"

I knew that would rile her. She was simply too easy. Her face flamed as she spat, "Oh, right, the sodding French language. Italian is the language of love_, not_ French. They all sound like hacking old people with nasal drips."

"Well then, for all my damned intelligence, I haven't a clue." I gave a helpless shrug.

"Mmm, well, don't take it to heart. My parents couldn't answer it either. They just gave me the usual, 'Samantha DeRosa, you mind that spewing tongue of yours.'" Sammy did a mimic of her parents that might have been amusing had I known them better.

"Parental advice is rarely heeded even under the most admirable circumstances."

_~What would you know about that, my little Mudblooded murderer?~_

It was so loud that I actually jumped a bit, giving a slight wince.

_~Sorry. I shall mind your delicate eardrums.~_

"...am I right?" Sammy was prattling on.

"Pardon?" I asked, trying to look as if I had just misunderstood her.

Her brown eyes darted quickly to mine. "Are you sure you're all right, Thomas? Because, otherwise, I'm just boring you, and I know my ego couldn't take that."

"No, of course not. I was simply too mesmerized by your beautiful voice to catch the deep meanings in your words," I said back, avoiding the topic of my well-being.

She snorted. "I know you too well to fall for your charm."

"Yes, you are far too sharp for it," I said a bit wryly.

"Too right. Anyway, I bet both our summers were better than Simon's. I saw him at some function over the summer – we have family that work together – and he looked dreadful. Ghastly pale, and he wouldn't say a word." Sammy's eyes widened in glee, as they always did when she was delving in gossip.

"Perhaps it is an embarrassing affliction. One can only hope," I replied casually, keeping my interest discreet.

"Maybe," she agreed mindlessly, winding her hair around her finger. She then gave a small frown and stood, saying, "Did my sister come on the train? I don't remember seeing her since we stopped at that place for breakfast..." She stood and wandered out of the compartment. Simply Sammy.

I leaned back, beginning to stare out the window.

_~If I were you, I would be more concerned about what is waiting for me at Hogwarts. Do you think your act will go unnoticed?~_

My throat contracted, and I cursed myself as he prattled on.

_~But then, you are tired and weak...perhaps you had best just give up and sleep? I can make you sleep.~_

_You can make me do nothing_. I gritted my teeth. Once I got to Hogwarts, I would figure out how to repel him for good.

_~Hm...perhaps now. Give me time. Although, these little hauntings are so enjoyable; I am quite content. And you know what that means...contentment leads to complacency. We both hate that...I must find better ways to amuse myself.~_

_Coming up with trite sayings in an effort to appear ominous?_ I offered. He raked bloody transparent claws through my mind at that.

He was with me practically always. Sometimes I felt his hold weaken, when he was distracted. Other times, he was so present in my mind that I had to struggle not to relinquish any part of myself to his control. He was adept as this torture...stronger at night, forcing me to remain awake in fear of relinquishing any hold to him. When I became simply too tired to remain awake, he would fill my mind with busy thoughts of his. It was like holding a blindingly bright light to one's eyes. It was impossible to ignore.

And torture was his goal. To torment me was his desire for now, and to eventually use me against Dumbledore, either as an ally or a dead example.

_~Yes, you are perfect for this. Dumbledore's lost treasure...his glowing failure.~_

_And yours, _I thought back with cold finality. No one used me.

_~...Well...someone will have a late night tonight.~_

**

"Tom."

I jerked my head up and stared dazedly at Dumbledore. "Sir?" I couldn't recall if I had been asleep or not. It was a few weeks into school now, and I was attending Transfiguration class with my peers. I was no longer given special classes by Dumbledore. He didn't have the time, with the war. I didn't really mind. I no longer truly needed him to study.

Right then he was wearing an expression of concern. "Are you feeling well?"

I forced a smile at him. "Never better, sir."

His expression did not change as he handed me back a paper. "If you say. I would like to speak with you after class, if that is all right with you."

I turned the paper to face me as I responded. "Of cour – " The words drowned out as my throat constricted.

E

It was a mistake. It had to be. I never got below an O. Never. It didn't happen. It just didn't. No matter what...

I was beyond flabbergasted. It was as if someone had reached down inside me, given a wrench, and now presented before me my charred pride.

I didn't even notice the bell had rung until I heard someone pass me, saying, "Well, well...knew that bloodline would catch up with him eventually." I didn't even acknowledge Simon.

After everyone had left, I slowly raised my eyes to find Dumbledore sitting behind his desk. Fighting not to curse him on the spot, I swallowed my anger and approached him calmly. "Sir...what is the meaning of this?"

Dumbledore blinked, then had the audacity to start chuckling at me. "That, Mr. Riddle, is what the world knows as an E. It is a grade. It means above average, which your paper was."

I tried very hard to keep the annoyance out of my voice. "Oh, thank you, sir, for that clarification. Perhaps I didn't make the question obvious enough. Why did I receive this..."

"E?"

"Yes. That mark."

Dumbledore sighed and stared at me bluntly. "Well, Tom...frankly, it wasn't your best work."

"I see. Were you judging that based purely on my individual abilities, or did you take the rest of the class's work into consideration?"

His eyes narrowed briefly. Perhaps I had overstepped a bit with that insinuation, but he answered mildly enough. "I always grade on the universal level, Tom. Your paper wasn't the best in the class. That is, of course, my own opinion. Another teacher might have felt differently."

"Yes, well, they don't give me the grade in Transfiguration."

A small smile. "No, they don't. Tom, it wasn't bad. I can show you how you might have done better, if you wish. I found you drawing conclusions that weren't there. You showed too much of your own opinion, not using what the actual authors said. Putting words in their mouths. And the structure might have been different..."

"You liked this outline," I said coldly.

"Yes, usually, but it didn't work for the content of your paper. Frankly, I was surprised by it. But it is only one mark. And, like I said, I can help you improve it."

"No, I see why I got this mark," I said.

"You feel it is unfair?"

"I understand why you gave it. May I go?"

"Tom, there is obviously something wrong. You look ill. You fell asleep in my class. You've never done that."

"I admit that it was too hard to remain conscious in your class."

His smile seemed sad, weight pulling the corners down. Perhaps it was from his wrinkles. "Whatever happened to your cross, Tom?"

I froze. "I beg your pardon?"

He tilted his head, keeping those eyes of his on mine. "Your cross. I haven't seen it in ages."

I swallowed hard, forcing my mouth not to curl. "It chafed."

He nodded slowly. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it must have shown through my robes. "May I go now? I have class."

He continued to stare at me for a moment longer, then simply said, "Yes." I quickly turned to go when he added, "Oh, but one more thing."

I cringed inside. "Yes?"

He had the audacity to smile at me in a paternal way. His patronization drove me to grind my teeth. But continue to grin he did, saying, "Nothing to get upset about. I actually have a request to ask of you."

_To ask of an E student? _I thought bitterly, but said, "Of course, sir. Anything that you think my abilities are capable of."

He laughed. "Very subtle, Mr. Riddle."

Damn him.

_~Soon.~_

Dumbledore flipped open his scheduling book. There were hand-drawn pictures in the margins. Doodles. Why wasn't I surprised? But I snapped to attention, my eyes rising to his, as he said, "I would like for you to do a demonstration for my fifth years, if that's all right. The class is, I believe, during the seventh years' study hall. Unless you are taking Muggle Studies as an elective?"

Ha-ha. It would have been more amusing if I weren't terrified by the prospect that he was implying anything. Keeping my face neutral, I responded, "No, sir. Not this semester."

"Mm, I thought not," Dumbledore said, in a manner impossible for me to read. He continued with, "Well, would you?"

"Of course, sir. What sort of demonstration?" I asked.

He folded his hands on the open agenda. His drawn stick men ran fearfully from the looming fingers as they folded on the paper. "I would appreciate it if you showed the fifth years your Animagus, Tom. The children have been working so hard, I figured something fun like this would give them something pleasant to work for."

Fate was a cruel mistress. No matter how hard one fought, she always managed to slice in a few cuts. My heart resumed its pounding.

_~Not good.~_

Ignoring the voice in my head, I tried to think furiously of an excuse. "But, sir, shouldn't you do it? You are more experienced than I. And I'm sure it would mean ever so much more, coming from the professor."

Dumbledore gave a slight shake of his head, disagreeing. "Once one transforms, one is as able as the next to show it, Mr. Riddle. Experience has nothing to do with it, once someone masters the transformation. And I believe it would mean much more coming from a peer, someone who is admired as yourself, than from a stodgy old professor." He examined me closely. "Is it too hot in here for you, Tom? You're perspiring a bit."

"No. Yes – I...Professor, I really must go. I'm very late for class. We can discuss this later, I hope." I turned and forced myself not to run out of the room. I cringed when I heard his voice again.

"Of course, Mr. Riddle. See you at five, then?"

_Damn him,_ I thought.

_~Soon.~_

_Shut up! _I snapped inside my head, leaving my own ears ringing.

_~Well, someone's cranky. I'm leaving. See you at five. ~_

He thankfully left my worn mind as I walked into Potions late. Zwipp shot me an annoyed glance as I made the long walk to my seat in the front of the room. He even interrupted his lesson to say, "After class, Riddle."

He must be in a spiteful mood. Brilliant. Even so, I almost welcomed the notion of detention. Perhaps around seventh year free period.

But stalling would only work for so long. I didn't know exactly how my Animagus had changed. I'd never heard of such a thing before. So if I didn't know how it had happened, I surely hadn't a clue how to fix it.

Not fix. It wasn't something that had broken or gone awry. Reverse was a better term. And including not knowing how to reverse it, I didn't wish to do so.

Could I simply refuse? Say I didn't feel like ever showing my Animagus? That is was too personal? He already thought me an eccentric, stubborn bastard. Didn't he?

Thankfully, I wasn't called on in class. I sat there, alternating internally between brooding and worrying. When we were dismissed, it took someone ramming my shoulder to knock me back to consciousness and realize class had ended.

I stood and walked to Zwipp's desk, standing confidently at attention. Zwipp was busy pouring some healing salve over his hand. I wondered who'd knocked what onto him. He wasn't about to inform me, though. His voice drew my gaze up to meet his eyes.

He said, "Riddle, what makes you think you can enter my classroom any damn time you feel like it?"

I was taken a bit aback at his tone and manner. I had never been late before, and Zwipp always revered me. Cautiously I replied, "I meant no disrespect, sir. Professor Dumbledore kept me after class."

Zwipp didn't seem to like that I had a reasonable excuse. "I don't want excuses, Riddle. Just see to it that it doesn't happen again. Understand?"

"Of course, sir." I paused, not moving.

He raised one of his thick eyebrows at me. "Well, Riddle? Waiting for me to escort you out?"

"No, sir. I just..." _Would like to know why you are being an unbelievable ass to me..._ "would like to know if everything is all right."

Zwipp actually growled at me. "None of your business. Get on going before you make another professor angry with your tardiness."

"Of course, sir. Certain behavior is inexcusable." I was miffed, but nodded civilly to him and collected my things. I was almost at the door when I heard him sigh.

"Tom, wait a moment." I turned slowly back to him as he continued to speak. "I'm sorry."

I stared at him, thinking. Zwipp wasn't the sort of man to lose his temper easily when it was unfounded. Especially not in front of the students. I approached him out of curiosity, not compassion. "Forgive my forwardness, sir, but...is something wrong?"

Zwipp gave a weary smile. "You're a good lad, Tom. And smart. But even this is beyond your reach." He had pulled himself back together, and his eyes clouded over. I'd get nothing more from him now.

I gritted my teeth in frustration, but didn't pry. "Thank you, sir. I'll leave now."

What was going on with the school? I couldn't help wondering at the professors' strange reactions. After Zwipp, I paid particular attention to the rest. We had someone new teaching Charms. Professor Filius Flitwick, a little creature who stood on books but was rather impressive in skill. He refused to say where Vallandora was. Thistle was on the warpath, assigning us two books on Dark Wars to read by next class. She also said the Dueling club was mandatory for all sixth and seventh years and highly recommended to everyone else. Practice was to be every night. When Randy asked about Quidditch, she said the sport, in any form, was postponed until further notice.

Hm...did they think us dense? Well, some of the students were, but not myself. Nor Simon. We shared the first glance we had in months that wasn't boiling over with hatred.

My concern was for a slightly different reason. I was closer to Grindelwald than anyone right now. I couldn't risk that being discovered. In Divination, I begged a headache and was exempt from the professor's reading.

The minutes ticked down to seventh free period. My heart was hammering, my gut twisting. I _hated_ Dumbledore. He was a frivolous, insane buffoon. How could he make me feel this way? I was stronger than him. I could take him down in a second. I could.

I _could._

I kept telling myself that.

I was frantically trying to think of something when Annie raced into me. I snapped, "Can't anyone around here see where they're going?"

Her excited smile faded. "I – I'm sorry, Tom. I just...was happy to see you. I haven't spoken to you in ages."

_Thankfully so_. "Trust me, I know."

She tried to be flirtatious. "Did you miss me?"

_Like a root canal._ "Miss, my dear, doesn't begin to describe it."

She giggled and playfully tapped my shoulder. All grown up, she was. We headed off in the same direction, and her eyes widened as she practically squealed, "Oh, are you going to do your Animagus for us, Tom? Dumbledore was talking about it...said we deserved something lighthearted. I suggested you do –"

"You suggested this?" I stopped and stared at her as she blathered on.

"Oh, yes, I stood right up and said, 'Professor, I think it would be grand if my friend Tom Riddle came in here and did a demonstration, to give us something to work hard for –'"

"_You_ did this."

"Yes. Oh, don't worry; I didn't say anything to embarrass you," she prattled on. "And Dumbledore thought it was just a grand idea. He said he'd been thinking the same thing, but wasn't sure it was something we'd really like, and then he sat there stroking his beard like he does, and he started to like the idea more and more; I could tell –"

"I imagine he did. So...you _really_ did this. You."

"Yup. You can thank me later." Her smile was smug and bright.

"Oh, don't worry. I intend to."

We finally reached the classroom. I let her walk in first. She seemed disappointed I didn't walk in beside her. Good. The ignorant little brat. She practically skipped to the front of the classroom. An empty seat was next to her, with a tiny note scrawled in her handwriting. It read, 'Hagrid's.' How endearing. I bet it was only allowed in Dumbledore's room.

Dumbledore was standing at the head of the room. His smile was bright. "So, Mr. Riddle. You decided to join us. I'm very pleased."

"Well, sir...I can't tell you how it makes me feel to see you happy." I faced the class, my mind pounding through its headache and fatigue in search of a solution. I barely heard Dumbledore's introduction.

There was no permanent solution. There was only stalling. And any distraction I made would bring suspicion. Except one, which could possibly blow up in my face worse than anything. Or it could result in my greatest feint. Taking a deep breath, I fell to the floor. Groaning as Dumbledore and Annie rushed toward me, I writhed on the floor, pushing their hands away.

My face was already flushed with worry, blackened eyes from exhaustion. In a voice perfectly raw because it was real, I croaked, "Grindelwald..."

_~Oh...you'll pay for that one, little Mudblood...~_


	30. Chapter 30: A Last Grasp

**Chapter 30: A Last Grasp**

"How many times does this make, Tom? Fifty?" Drawt asked me in a playfully soothing voice as she waved her wand over me. She paused particularly over my head, her finely lined brow crinkling as she continued, "I think I've had more odd afflictions from you than any other student I've ever had, and I've treated everyone back to Albus!"

I made a noncommittal groan, both over her expression and at the mention of Dumbledore. Grindelwald was gone right now, of course. He wouldn't risk being discovered by either Drawt's or Dumbledore's hands. But every moment he was away merely gave me time to anticipate his return. And this time, I couldn't even imagine how he'd react. 

I had been so tense she'd insisted on giving me a potion to relax. My body betrayed my vocal protests under her examination, so in futility I clamped my mouth shut and took the syrupy violet goo, letting it slide down my throat. Then, she arranged chocolate on a table nearby. At my expression she clucked her tongue and said in a reprimanding voice, "It alleviates the effects of dark magic, Mr. Riddle. I don't know what was used on you, but it certainly can't hurt. Now, don't be a child."

Her remark made me feel even more petulant, but I curved my mouth from a frown to a smile. "Of course you're right." I couldn't say with certainty what form of magic Grindelwald had been using on me, so her treatment made sense. It was only that my stomach turned at the thought of the sickeningly sugary substance. 

However, I forced some of it down, and felt no different. The dull headache pounding behind my eyes, in my temples, and at the base of my skull was still present. 

After that, she finished her examination and shook her head. "You seem perfectly fine. But I know you…you wouldn't lie."

The irony of her statement and the situation was simply too humorous. I bit back a smile as she continued to puzzle, biting her lower lip as she stared into my eyes. She always took such pride in her skills, claiming she could diagnose by just looking in a person's eyes. Yet she was clearly stumped now, and her look was one of open and honest frustration and concern. 

"Of course, he is a strong Seer. Strong enough to invade and leave without the slightest residue I do find surprising, though…that kind of deftness usually takes a link of quite some time to the victim."

Victim. The word burned hatred and humiliation throughout me. The emotion was strong enough to make me almost wish Grindelwald back now, as if my mere fury could incinerate him. 

"I know this is far from comforting, Tom, but all we can do it wait. Of course, most likely it was an isolated attack…since you went right to Albus, Grindelwald will think twice about doing it again. But in any case, for now, you're fine. And I won't stop searching, and neither will Albus." She brushed the hair off my forehead sympathetically, her eyes a little sad. "Can I get you anything?"

_Yes. The last five minutes of my existence where I was forced to endure your aggravating pity_. "No, thank you. I'll just be going…"

Her hand placed itself firmly against my chest, and her eyes held an annoying gleam of maternal concern that I found nothing but condescending. "You will do no such thing. Albus will come here and speak with you, and then you are staying here the night. Dark magic is nothing to fool around with."

"Right. Of course." Again, a smile was rising in me, but it was curbed by the fact that I was stuck in the hospital wing for the night and from Dumbledore entering the room. The sight of him either induced unending humor of the condescending nature, or drained any cheer immediately from me. 

He came near the bed, smiling down at me as he always did, even when I was standing it seemed, though I was his height by now. He reached over, picked up a piece of the chocolate set on the side on a narrow plate and popped it in his mouth thoughtfully. "Quite enjoyable."

"I'm not fond of it, myself," I said. It was always nice to find something we didn't have in common. 

"No, I didn't think you were," he said, pulling up a chair to sit beside my bed. I watched him through narrowed eyes, forcing a neutral expression on my face. He continued speaking, saying, "I hope you don't mind speaking of today a bit, Mr. Riddle." His eyes traced the sunken lines of my face thoughtfully, as he murmured, "I do hate to push you when you are so clearly exhausted. But in matters with Grindelwald, you can understand the urgency. The entire school is at risk, and is my primary concern."

Yes, in descending priority order of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, the inorganic matter grown in the laboratories, and then Slytherins. Over my mental commentary, I replied, "I'm very tired, sir. And I have a headache. But of course I'll do whatever I must." Whatever I must to ease the aggravation your presence causes, that is. 

Dumbledore's smile actually grew at that, but his image was blurring around the edges of my vision so I couldn't decipher its intent. I was fighting the potion from Drawt, not the best circumstance when dealing with Dumbledore. Perhaps my eyes glazed, for he said, "You can close your eyes as you speak, if you think you can't keep them open. It doesn't matter now." 

Whatever did that mean? I stared hard at him, but found nothing, so I bit back any puzzlement from showing and merely asked, "Shall I begin?" 

Dumbledore sat back, even further blurring himself. But his voice was as calm as it always was as his words floated over to me. "Please."

I heaved a sigh, weaving my tale. "I've felt out of sorts for awhile, now. At least a few days. Just muddled, and drained. Not able to fully concentrate on anything, even work." There. My ego was somewhat satiated for the grade he had dealt me, though I still found it ludicrous and unfair. I pushed on. "As I was walking to your classroom, a terrible headache overtook me. Just as I was passing that portrait of Merlin, on the west end corridor." Sprinkling in details to paint a picture others could see worked wonders with making a lie believable. "As Ms. Weasley overtook me, I…I heard him speak."

Dumbledore interrupted me there. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I am curious about something. How exactly did you hear him speak?"

His fuzzy form felt odd to address, but I had no choice, for I didn't comprehend what he desired of me. My features dropped into a frown. I hated when he made no sense. Anyone else would probably assume he was simply so utterly brilliant they couldn't follow the sheer genius of his questioning. I simply found it bumbling. He was supposed to be some fabulous protection? Hardly. And least of all to me. I was beyond exhausted and frayed and detested his prolonging my tale of supposed victimization. "How did I hear him speak? Well, these things called words formed –"

"Tom." His voice stopped me. I glared at him, not sure where to focus until he leaned in close enough. His face was carved in compassion, but his voice held a stern note as he continued. "I can only imagine how trying the day has been. It must have been horrifying, and its only natural to be on edge."

Fabulous. A human psychology lesson from the man that charmed the air in his office at times to snow so he could catch snowflakes on his tongue when he was upset. Still, under his gaze I felt childish again. I swallowed further comments and forced a look of contrition as he kept speaking. 

"But I must ask you to trust me. I know what I am asking about, even if it isn't clear to you."

Right. Because he was too brilliant for my simple Slytherin mind to comprehend. Oh, and far too trustworthy and good to be questioned. It wasn't as if having students being attacked didn't reflect poorly on his golden image. I wanted to turn my back to him and shut out his sanctimony, but instead I gritted my teeth and replied, "My apologies, sir. But I don't quite know what you're asking for."

His eyes looked me over, and he smiled a bit. "What I mean is, did you actually hear him speaking from the outside, or was it more a voice inside of you?"

That made a bit more sense, I was forced to admit. But still, I couldn't help it if he wasn't eloquent enough to get a clear thought like that across the first time he tried. I Eyeing him back, I paused, trying to think. I had never read anything about one way being more telling than the other. Still, I felt ill at ease in responding, "The latter. Sir." He nodded, clearly pondering my answers. His blurry form weaved in and out, dancing brightness among the black spots. Minutes passed, until I couldn't take it any longer and blurted out in question, "What does it mean?"

He raised his eyes back to meet mine, looking surprised. I didn't think I had asked him a question in years. As humiliating a prospect as it was, it was worth it if I gained some clue as to what was going on. And it was well merited just to see him perplexed. He thought he understood me so readily, it was nice to wrench it as often as I could. 

"I suppose you deserve an answer," was how he began. He shifted to sit on my bed, and I fought not to wince. I was in pain enough, I needn't have him so close. But we could each see the other easier this way, and his voice dropped to only be audible to me. "It wasn't Imperius, not exactly. He moved his consciousness into yours. I…never thought it possible. Some telepathy I have seen in the past, but it has always required both sides to be consenting. That was hardly the case here, I don't think." At that he paused, staring off a little into the distance over my head.

I stared at him in disbelief, than slight indignation. "No, I'm fairly certain I didn't want him to torture me with my own thoughts and make my eardrums bleed or keep me u – under his control." I had almost said 'keep my up at nights,' and internally I cursed myself. Grindelwald was only supposed to have been in me for a short time. 

At that, Dumbledore dropped his gaze again and blinked before shaking his head. "No, Tom, I don't believe you welcomed him. I didn't mean to seem as if I did." Again his faint smile, though he didn't dare touch me to comfort. "I think both of us are more than a little spent from the day."

Yes, it must have worn you out from laughter at seeing me collapse on the ground. I didn't really believe he would have laughed, but I did wonder if some part of him hadn't smirked, and I bristled at the thought. Well, it had been my only option. I'd have liked to see him struggle with Grindelwald for as long as I had. "What is to be done now?" I inquired, keeping my voice neutral. I'd had to bite back so much I felt as if I'd explode if he didn't leave soon. 

I wouldn't have closed my eyes for all the exhaustion in the world if it had meant I'd have missed his helpless expression. Even with my life at stake, his being lost as to how to help was satisfying. Still, he pulled himself together quickly and said in a calm voice, "Now, you rest. I shall place a protection spell upon you that should alert me if Grindelwald returns."

Part of me filled with panic at his suggestion. As coolly as I could, trying to muster simple curiosity, I asked, "Will you be able to do anything then? Perhaps control him, or…hear what he says then?"

The odd, confident look in Dumbledore's eyes filled me with anything but. I pressed my head back against the pillow as he leaned down, his eyes holding a spark that in the harsh hospital lighting made the blue almost twinkle. In a voice I had grown to know far too well, he replied, "I will do better." A moment passed where we stared transfixed at each other, and then he stood. Briskly gathering his robes around his self, he hesitated before adding, "You no doubt provide an interesting challenge, Mr. Riddle. I doubt Grindelwald knew quite what he was signing up for when he entered your mind, even with his previous attacks. Anyway, rest now."

"I'm not tired," the words came out with stubborn defiance. Woozily I forced myself to sit more upright, leaning on my elbows, finding him looking at me in clear amusement. "What spell will you do? What's better?"

The smile he gave me burned infuriation down to whatever soul I had as he replied, "The protection is already in place. As to what I shall do, well…for that, you must simply trust me, Mr. Riddle." And then, he had the audacity to add, "Now, I understand you being a bit too unsettled to be able to sleep…perhaps you could try counting highly marked papers flying over my head." His voice trailed off, smile widening.

Oh, he was too amusing. A neutral smile slid the edges of my lips upward, as I replied, "Very clever, sir."

"Yes, I thought so. Good night, Mr. Riddle," he said, his smile fading as he turned and exited the infirmary. The smile slid off my face as well, settling into a frown. The relaxing potion was starting to hit me heavily, but I refused to lie back. Instead, I grabbed the magical purge bucket from beneath the bed and vomited up as much of the disgusting potion and chocolate as I could. I stared as the bucket cleaned itself before my eyes darkly rose to the door. Drawt was in her office. The rest of the infirmary was empty. Perfect. 

Standing proved a bit more difficult than I had anticipated. Black spots danced before my eyes as I desperately leaned my hand against the cool stone wall for support. Shuddering sighs escaped me as I fought to breath normally, shaking off the wave of warm dizziness. More of the potion had taken effect than I had anticipated. Dumbledore had, of course, droned on far too long.

Apprehension caught my throat, his smug words filling me with anything but warmth. They also steeled my will enough to shove off the wall and walk, stumbling at first, to the door. I slid out, snaking my way around the walls. At night, Hogwarts was lit solely by torchlight, and odd gray shadows of brightness spun and coiled about the stones as I passed, seeming to darken into nothingness as I blocked the light with my step. A single thought was determined to ensnare my entire consciousness, and that was to reach Dumbledore's office and figure out precisely what he was planning. His words had scraped a hole inside of me, their smoothly calm surface torrentially rough against me. Often in his presence I felt bare, as if every carefully crafted barrier I had constructed over the years through tenacious and painful will he barreled through. No, not barreled. More like pricked. Pricked little holes, tiny and aggravating, but not deadly unless done so in a very specific pattern that would shake my foundation and crumble it. As much as I told myself Dumbledore could do nothing, that he had no measure to stand against me no matter what I did, I was still always on edge around him. My survival instincts which were honed to define my very self gave a mocking but bitter laugh. He had prevented me from fully realizing Salazar's vision with the Chamber, but he had merely prolonged the inevitable, as he was now. No matter what he knew of the wretched Muggle who defiled my mother to have me, or what he deduced about Grindelwald's connection with me, he could do nothing. I would make sure of that. A smile curled up my lips. Perhaps that was would be the sweetest revenge of all for him. After years of mistrusting me, of nagging and questioning and interfering and fearing, he would know for sure he had been right…and not have a single bloody thing he could do about it. 

I met the entrance to his office. Staring at it, my hardened eyes flickered with brief uncertainty. I couldn't simply enter. And my life wasn't easy enough for him or someone suspicious to make a contrived entrance or exit. My tired mind finally managed reason through the rollicking anger and unsettlement the day had instilled within me. It still chafed that there was nothing immediate that I could do, but standing outside Dumbledore's office really wasn't prudent or beneficial, I had to admit. Sighing, I spun around, flicking my wand in lazy circles as I made my way back to Slytherin. Any thought of returning to the hospital was immediately reviled in my mind. 

By the time I reached the Slytherin entrance I was so tired even my clothing seemed to ache with a bone-weariness. I did notice that I had one real injury, hardly large but rather annoying since every nerve in my body was raw. I had bruised my hip falling in Dumbledore's class, and every stretch of muscles near that area groaned as I walked into the Slytherin Commons. I had no idea what time it was, and hearing voices as my eyes adjusted to the shadows meant nothing. There always seemed to be people awake in Slytherin at every hour. Since I rarely slept, I knew this for a fact. I slipped into the room, startling some conversation

One voice immediately stood out to me, more for the words than the voice. In a whisper barely concealed a girl said, "Bloody hell, you almost sound jealous, you daft bugger." She made no bother to lower her voice or stop her words as she and her companions whipped to stare up at me. Or perhaps she was incapable of stopping her tongue.

Through the dim flickers of the fire's embers I walked into the sightline of Sammy reclining on Randy, with Simon staring about in disgust. He _did_ look atrocious, I was still pleased to say. His hair never quite looked like he knew how to fix it at times, and his face was deathly pale. He was still thicker than me though, even having lost a bit of weight, and his eyes glared with no fear at all. Derision had settled into simple hatred in his gaze when I saw it staring back. Part of me had to marvel…a mere two years ago, he would never have dreamed of being so impertinent. He had always been hungry, but never had he the sheer ravenous need to devour his practical timidity. There seemed little practicality now as he said stiffly, "I'm _hardly_ jealous. Just because I'm not afraid to say that it's absurd that the Dark Lord would enter _that_," he gestured at me with a dismissive wave, "would never to one with any rational reasoning conclude jealousy."

"Hmm…you're right. Must have been your tone, then," Sammy said with a humored gaze of indifference. Her eyes met mine, still cautious, but she said good-naturedly enough, "Riddle, you must do something about your appearance. Even with being under Imperius or whatnot by Grindelwald, that's still no excuse for wandering around representing Slytherin looking as you do." 

"He wasn't under the Imperius Curse," Simon spat through gritted teeth. 

Sammy shrugged. "Since it wasn't my self, it matters not to me." Simon turned bright red as she prattled on, "But is that true, Riddle?" A wicked smile came to her face then…I had never seen her torment another so well. Curiosity rose in me, making me observe her amusement rather than partake in it. 

Tucking herself up on the leather couch, she added with blithe severity, "If you were lying, then you are too despicable for words. I mean, you would have no excuse then for looking like the unkempt corpse you now do." As she spoke she lazily brushed her fingers through Randy's hair. Randy, for his part, kept his gaze firmly on her, neither glancing nor speaking to either Simon or me. It wasn't an all that unusual behavior for him, when around Sammy. I suspected he was often there merely to absorb the sounds droning from her mouth. 

I merely shot her a mild frown at her repeated insults. Simon was a far more interesting sight to focus upon, especially in response to Sammy's remarks. He kept glaring at me, far too many flickers slashing across his gaze to decipher. Finally he spat, "You two deserve each other," and stomped off down the steps to the dorms. 

For a long moment silence crept around the commons as we all stared at his retreating form. My captivation was the first to break, shifting to watch Sammy. Simon's words sat oddly with me. It seemed that he was speaking of Sammy and myself but I hadn't a clue what he might have meant. But then, it was an unfortunate truth that people at times made absolutely no sense. Emotions and situations came that tossed their consciousnesses askew, and many had not the ability to handle the tides. Even as such problems no longer reached through my defenses, I was still aware of how debilitating those emotions and events could be to others. My eyes flitted back to the dorms, unable to place Simon in that category either. Again, that might apply to most, but it really didn't fit Simon. The possibility that his words made perfect sense to him was without question, but that they might also to me if I could place one last piece of the puzzle together wouldn't leave. 

Sammy was still prattling, her voice turning irritating to me now as I tried to think. I ignored her, saying absently, "Excuse me," and followed Simon down the stairs. I found him shoving something into his drawer as I entered. He turned to glare at me, and then slid into his bed without a word. All I heard was a muffled voice calling me a prat, which couldn't have slid easier off my back. The anger in his voice was clear, but underlined with something else. Sammy, in all of her flippant deductions, had seemed to hit upon it perfectly. Jealousy. It was there, leaking out of him. That notion in and of itself wasn't too surprising, for Simon had been jealous of me seemingly forever. Remembering that fact always spread a warm satisfaction beneath the cold skin on my chest. But it now nagged at me persistently, perhaps because his jealousy seemed more near the surface than before. 

All these thoughts came to me as I undressed and fell into bed, laying face down in the pillows. I always slept on my stomach, with my hand curled around my wand, which was tucked under the pillow. I breathed in the warm air, realizing that I might be able to sleep this night. Grindelwald had literally kept me awake for four days, barring those brief unconscious moments in class. For some reason, I couldn't resist calling out to Simon, "Good night, sleep well." 

A moment passed and then I heard him call out, "Don't get cursed and try to kill me, and I will."

"I don't plan on either, tonight." A smile curled up my lips, even though I knew I would hardly find utter peace. I never really slept well in my life. In fact, I utterly detested the whole process of it. My mind was always busy, twisting and turning thoughts or problems about. While others found the brief respite of sleep welcoming, I found it weak and aggravating. My mind refused to stop even then, jerking to consciousness every hour or so, wrestling with something or other. Relaxation was disgusting, seeming slovenly when there was so much that could be done. But then, it takes all kinds, and some must reside on the purely shallow, willfully and ignorantly base levels. Some people had to go into the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor houses, after all. 

That was my last thought before utter unconsciousness blanketed itself over me. 

How many hours went by, I wasn't sure. It might have been minutes, or seconds. There wasn't any way I could tell, since I wasn't even sure when I had lain down. But sometime, a light too blinding to be the sun pierced through my eyelids. It wasn't white…it was too bright to determine color, but it didn't feel white or black. Just a surge of indeterminate power, a pulsing that slid tendrils so fine they wrapped down my nerves into my chest cavity, pouring out there with an icy cold grip that belied any notion of delicacy to snare my heart and squeeze it until I felt it drip. I jerked upright and gasped, my hand pressing my chest, gripping the shirt front so hard it tore. I was trembling, not only from fear, not merely from adrenaline, but from some…_power_. That was the only word I could use to describe the blast of energy, and though it didn't seem to belong to me, it filled me. My fingers instinctively dug into my chest as if to grip whatever was pulsing, to grab it and either devour it properly or dissect it into oblivion. 

Breaths escaped in short pants, puffing before me and trailing off into the air. My eyes must have been dilated, for there was hardly any light creeping into the dorms from the Commons, and still my eyes ached –

There was light from the Commons. The door was open. This realization came to me in words, forming in my mind like dark little prints, stamping out the light. I swung my face round, staring about blankly to find everyone still slumbering, except Simon. He was sitting upright, face sweaty, hand also pressed against his chest, flatly though, not digging his nails in. Slowly his eyes turned to face me, and we remained locked like that for several breaths. His eyes looked clouded, but for all I knew, mine did as well. I searched him as much as I could, testing the silence when he suddenly snapped, "I heard at your Muggle orphanage you had to see the vet, and even he didn't want to touch you."

His words jolted me, not for the memory, but for the sheer abruptness of them. Before I could say anything else I saw him tighten his jaw, then quickly clamp his mouth shut and flop back down, leaving me staring down at him for the rest of the night. 


	31. Chapter 31: The Hideous Portrait Unfolds

A/N – The Cicero I was referring to was the Roman lawyer. I highly recommend reading all of his writings as well as whatever case dialects you can get your hands upon. He's a brilliant orator and strategist, and just a wonderful wordsmith. And the part with the light is explained a bit more here, but all ties together in the next and last! chapter, which will be up if not tonight, then tomorrow. Just bf the book comes out! I sure waited, didn't I?

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Chapter 31: The Hideous Portrait Unfolds 

Weeks. Weeks went by since that night, and neither Simon nor I spoke of what happened. Nor did Dumbledore say another word to me about anything related to Grindelwald or his hospital visit. The only indication that something was occurring was that once he came into class appearing gray, but cheerfully told us he had simply stayed too late at the Baron's Deathday party the previous night. Of all the professors, Dumbledore alone remained seemingly calm in class. Dippet, on the other hand, had taken to nervously pacing in his office, mumbling to himself as I worked on filing whatever papers he wished me to. My duties about the castle to help pay for my tuition didn't alter, and I still tutored or assisted Odius on the grounds or the professors in their labs. My work with Dippet, however, seemed more akin to baby-sitting. The man was clearly strained beyond his capabilities, a chord that was knotted and twisted more and more, shrinking with the stress. His office and myself seemed to be his only oasis, pitifully enough. He would either pace while having me perform menial tasks, or just ask me to tell him good things going on in my life. He'd sit and nod slowly, smiling with pride over every A I told him of. What he probably found a heartwarming fatherly interest I found distracting and annoying. He had nothing to do with my success, and the twist inside of anyone taking credit for me was anything but pleasant. All he ever did was give me demeaning tasks in order to pay my keep, even though I was the best thing that ever came through his school doors. All he mentored in me was a profound distaste for his weak delusions.  He needed me, though, and as much as that disgusted me inside, outwardly it finally proved a wonderful tool for exploitation. 

He was sitting behind his desk, mumbling, "Red or white? Red or white?" The words kept droning as he stared at a candy cane before him. "I always thought Christmas colors were red and green…but my wife prefers gold, actually. Not that I can afford that."

"Fascinating, sir," I replied, handing him his drink. The waft of hard liquor floated up as I moved it onto his desk, and I fought back a grimace. 

He leaned back, swirling the drink, watching it spin in golden folds as if he'd fallen into its pool of mesmerizing waves. The pitiful thing was, he wasn't even drunk then. He finally tipped the glass back, downing a bit, letting his mouth pucker as he asked, "Have you ever tried whiskey before, Tom?"

"No, sir." I preferred to enjoy the misery of life in full consciousness. Besides, since I could barely handle certain foods still without feeling nauseous, the idea of purposely placing myself in a position to loose bodily and mental control didn't appeal.

He eyed me, clearly appraising. "How old are you now, son?"

"About seventeen." I didn't know for certainty. My only gauge for that matter was that I must have been eleven when entering Hogwarts. I still had no actual birthday, but little interest in acquiring one, anyway. 

A smile tightened his unshaven face as he repeated, "Seventeen…Merlin." He shook his head, his eyes still dull. "Do you know how many students I've seen walk in and out of those Hogwarts doors, Tom?"

I could have figured out a rough average in my head in seconds, but I knew he was being rhetorical so I merely replied, "Many, I know, sir."

"Too many," was his quite reply. "Far too many…names that I can't forget. That our times won't let me." His hand rested on the morning paper, where there was a list of recent victims of Grindelwald. The article ran over two columns. He was now in Britain, solely attacking the wizarding world with a fierceness that belied any rationale. He seemed almost panicked in pictures, but over what didn't seem that clear. By all accounts, he was indomitable. 

"I'm sure you're doing everything you can, sir," I said in full honesty. As near as I could tell he wasn't capable of much, so keeping the school as it was now was probably all he could manage. Even doing that seemed to be ripping him apart.

A laugh was his response, one that carried no humor at all within its sound. "No, Tom. I'm not doing anything. Albus…" his jaw tightened a bit, but he forced himself on, "Albus is doing much more." 

A laugh with humor rose in me, but I stifled it. Something in Dippet's tone made me pause, then say slowly, "I find that hard to believe, sir." It was a gentle nudge, a dangling bit of bait I knew he'd leap to be hooked upon.

Indeed, he started for it, wiggling on my line as he was snagged. "You think I'm doing as much as Albus…good Merlin. If you knew…if you only knew…" he sounded bleakly awed. As if he had no hope for whatever it was he thought Dumbledore to be doing, and yet, felt unspeakable pride in it. 

"Knew what, sir?" He didn't respond, so I prodded a bit louder, "sir, surely he is offering nothing more than you can –"

"Have you any idea what Albus did before he came to teach here, Tom?" Dippet interrupted me, forcing my mouth shut. I had inklings, but I chose to play utter ignorance and let him paint the details for me as he continued to talk into his drink. "No, I don't suppose you do. Well, he did many things…Auror work among them."

Fitting. I wasn't surprised at all. Forcing a pleasant note I said, "Noble work. Of course he did." And then as it came it me I added slowly, "And has he returned to it, then?" I answered my own question in my next words. "Of course he has." Really, this wasn't news at all. Disgruntled, I was ready to beg off further work when Dippet began to speak.

"The man has greatness in his blood…and he doesn't realize it." Dippet's voice was low, hauntingly so, swirling with his drink. "Or maybe he does…perhaps that's what lets him…" His words sickened me, giving me a fever as it boiled my blood. I wanted to grab him, shake him, or at least place him under the Imperius curse and order him to get one single coherent thought out. But I was forced to bite my tongue as Dippet apparently snapped out of his rambling, eyeing me again as if I existed. "I trust Albus's opinion beyond reproach, Tom. But I…I cannot help but think that he…even he must make mistakes. And he has said as much…"

Me. I couldn't shake the chilling thought that Dippet was speaking of things Dumbledore had said about me. My heart crawled up into my throat, expanding enough to lodge itself there in my thin neck. Hoarsely I said, "Everyone makes mistakes…" My mind spun dizzily, turning over the possibilities of what Dumbledore had said. An utterly unseen jab rose to my lips in the sweet words of, "After all…he's only human. We can't blame him for mistakes." 

Nobody had ever accused me of being that. And I had risen far above it already, at least in my mind. 

Examining me carefully, I saw him willfully draw a happy shade across his gaze. Blowing a breath out through pursed lips, he murmured, "Good lad you are, Tom." That response was not what I truly desired. I was literally aching to ask him what had been said. Labeling my suspicion as just paranoia didn't feel right. I knew Dumbledore didn't trust me. He never had. But this was my first inkling that he had truly given up, saying something to Dippet with enough weight that it struck the Headmaster. Worries over what he had somehow sensed from Grindelwald, or what he knew of my past summer, refused to abate. They rammed mercilessly from my constricted chest into my mind, filling it full so Dippet's little words barely reached my inner eardrum. Something about telling him how being Head Boy was coming along. Automatically I gave him roughly one percent of my attention, more than he required. The rest was on worries over myself. 

Semester finals came, providing me with little actual challenge in and of itself. It was far more stressful fitting in all the requests for tutorial assistance. Image forbade me refusing anyone, and ego insisted on making every one of them pass. Never had Hogwarts had as exemplary a tutor as I was making myself. I also continued running the Dueling Club, mandatory now for fourth years as well. Yule Ball plans I partook in, as well as continuing to assist the professors in any capacity they desired. Basically, I rendered myself utterly indispensable, which was always my goal. 

Break found me of course doing anything but. It was with a condescending satisfaction that I imagined all of my peers lazing about, falling behind me as they gathered like cattle in their homes. The thought brought a slight twist inside of me, a bitter one. The only place I ever considered home was the Chamber, and that was off limits…for now. Its moist stones with an echo all unto themselves as I walked over them remained merely a memory, as did the feeling of power that vibrated through the walls, all belonging to me. Fortunately, my memory was beyond efficient, and I locked every sensory bit of the Chamber inside, sure I would visit it again sometime. 

Even if I lost that space, what I had truly begun in there continued. I studied every art, regarding nothing as black or dark. Of course some brought pain, even to myself if I had to test it that way, but with it grew a sense of delicious control. Under the very sanctimonious noses of Dumbledore, Dippet, and everyone I built up my own protection, making myself impenetrable in everyway I could. Of course there were side effects, one that even mangled my hand. I had to hide for two days until I figured out how to right it. Half a day passed before I could even become accustomed to its gruesome appearance, but worse was that it was of no use. But I recessed into my mind as I always did, finding the body a shell and tool that I could morph and shape. I had no sense of Grindelwald during any of this, and whether from my upped studies or not I brimmed with pride. 

Randy, Simon, Annie and Bill also didn't go home, and at least Simon tried to give the appearance of studying. However, his focus seemed lacking when I paid him attention. He merely spat insults if I met his gaze, to which I'd shrug and move on. I spent my time pouring over texts in the library if I wasn't gagging internally over assisting Flitwick with decorating the castle. The merry little creature was even more enthusiastic than Vallandora over the castle's displays. He did, however, know a great deal about elemental magic, and I picked his mind as I placed his ornaments. It was very close to Transfigurations, and intrigued me with its basic yet powerful properties. As with Transfigurations, it felt like a part of me; not something I could merely master, but as something that made me up. Which, in a way, it did with everyone, I supposed. Yet it was tinged with an ancient magical force that I could wield easier than most. I wondered if it was a hereditary gift or ability of the Slytherin line…but of course, I would never be able to find out. My past was lost to me, a broken chain I couldn't salvage in full, but I intended to fill in as many gaps as possible with every thought, action, and breath I took. I desired not only to rebuild but also expand upon my legacy, carving a prestige greater than even the image now. But of course, for the present, the role of student was all I could properly fill. I fully intended to do so, mastering every bit of magic for now, saving it for later. Flitwick, though annoying, was surprisingly useful in that area.

It was on one such occasion that I stood beside the tree, going over NEWTS preparation with the little professor when Dumbledore entered the Great Hall. His face was tight and gray, and his sharp eyes furtively landing on me immediately. It was hard not to center of attention on such a sight, but the little thing at his side beckoned my focus as well. It was a hooded figure, clad in thick reddish brown robes. I felt them behind me, vibrations sent through the stone and up my feet, and as I turned my gaze wasn't sure where to focus. 

Both Dumbledore and the hooded figure paused. I couldn't even see whether it had scales or just skin, for the cloth shrouded every inch, the only thing giving it form a black leather belt tied in a knot about its waist. It was shorter than Dumbledore, but stood with his magnitude. My I shifted my focus from one to the other, coming forward as Dumbledore bade me. I almost glanced uncertainly at Flitwick, but forced my face front and walked steadily. I met his eye level, but had to look down at the figure. For all appearances it stared straight ahead, refusing to look down. I almost felt a smile come off of it, its image playing out in my mind as a sudden hand pushed back the hood. 

I found myself staring, uncomprehendingly until the figure all but croaked, "Dearie…it's been long." My eyes widened as the figure's identity became apparent. Mara Fluris…the amphibious woman I had cured years before. Her skin was still tinged a bit red, and the perfectionist in me wanted to work on her again to prove my ability. I had, after all, grown tremendously stronger in the last six years, in more ways than one. The memory rushed back as I stared dumbly at her until she laughed. Then my face slid behind its mask, and I turned to Dumbledore. 

My voice sounding remarkably calm even as surprised as I was, I inquired, "What is this about?" Then, always an afterthought I added, "Sir." To Mara, I then smiled and added pleasantly, "Not that it isn't delightful to see you again."

His aggravating smile was my only response at the moment. He motioned for us to follow him, crooking a finger behind him. He took me into his office, along with Mara. Politely I stood until she had seated, receiving a cackled response of, "Oh, you breed them posh and polite here!"

"Yes, well, we try. Mr. Riddle is quite the charmer," Dumbledore replied, settling himself behind his desk, peering at me with friendly if curious eyes. "You'd be hard pressed to find one more polite than him, normally."

"Is that so?" Mara said, seeming to miss, or perhaps ignore, the odd tension I sensed between the Deputy Headmaster and myself. She randomly picked up objects on Dumbledore's desk, examining them and rubbing little pink nails over their exterior as she spoke. "I remember the little chicken being that way. Although quite persistent at the same time." Her eyes brightened and she looked up at me and asked excitedly, "Have you got a daisy yet, then?"

I stared uncomprehendingly at her, causing her to cackle again and say, "Oh, my…am I that outdated? I meant have you got yourself a girl?"

I couldn't recall that ever being referred to as having a daisy, but I bit back that thought and a flush of self-conscious embarrassment and anger. "Not at the moment." I had better things to do than work myself into a fit over someone else, I thought in scathing self-defense. Dumbledore's expression was far too maddening, so I immediately changed the topic, asking him, "Is there something you needed with me, Sir?" 

Shaking his head, Dumbledore offered Mara a small bowl of candy, probably to cause her to release some toy on his desk she was fondling. Her face brightened and she gladly took a handful, stuffing it into the deep folds of her pockets before taking more to eat right then. I was faintly repulsed, but Dumbledore merely seemed amused as he said, "Ms. Fluris has some interesting news that I thought she should share with you as well. Please, do go on, Ms. Fluris."

Mara shook her head emphatically. "Oh, do call me Mara, Headmaster."

"He's the Deputy Headmaster at the moment, Ma'am," I corrected helpfully. 

Dumbledore gave me his smile as he said, "Quite right, Tom." He held my gaze for a moment before shifting it back to Mara. "But please, I then insist you call me Albus."

"Oh, you flirt," Mara said, sucking on her candy. Her face did sour a bit then, over more than the lemon drop. Eyeing me, she reached out to grasp my hand. I fought not to flinch, letting her pull me to a seat beside her as she began. "You remember my saying that I was a…procurer of goods, when we last met?"

She was a treasure hunter, she'd said. But I politely nodded, and she continued. "Well, I found quite the interesting piece on my last expedition. Mind you, it would have given me a pretty penny," she shot a glance at Dumbledore, but seeing no reaction from him she merely sighed and said, "But I suppose all the gold couldn't weigh out my conscience." Another pause, the air thickening before her lips as the words, "It was Grindelwald," seemed to solidify everything to stone.

My chest clenched, the air indeed hard to take in. My expression must have conveyed the roiling confusion and caution that twisted me inside, for Dumbledore then took over. Leaning forward, pressing his hands together in a triangle, he said, "Tom, Grindelwald is deceased. Or at least, his body is. For quite some time, now."

"But that's not possible," logic blurted out for me. "He's been seen…there've been pictures of him taken recently…"

Dumbledore denied all of my denials. "No, Tom. Looks are deceptive, in this case. That was not Grindelwald in the photographs. I suspected as much, when I saw them in the papers at the end of last term." His voice held a firm confidence. 

A wave of humiliation came over me. Of course, I'd not had the resources that Dumbledore had, or the numerous physical encounters with Grindelwald that he had which gave him an advantage in deducing this conclusion. But still, the mere fact still drove knives of emotion into my chest. I refused feelings of awe for derision, and anger for fear. I was in control enough to mold my inner thoughts and feelings to my liking, and let them simmer beneath an impenetrable surface. But one question did keep bubbling up…

_HOW?_

I gave it voice, inflicting it without any trace of admiration or jealousy. "And how did you arrive at that conclusion, Sir?"

He was only too eager to tell in Dumbledore fashion, where he only gave half answers.  "Oh, many things lead to another. I've not the power he has in Divination. However, those few years ago when he kidnapped me, he left an impenetrable mark. Pure darkness can do that."

Yes. Right. Of course. It was a struggle to keep the sarcastic slip of my mouth from forming as I responded, "Of course, Sir. Like true love." Theoretically, I'd read about such things.

"Exactly, Tom. Only, it is not a protective force, as love is, where even when it seems to destroy it builds." Dumbledore acted almost pleased, as if I truly had believed his drivel on darkness. His eyes held the faintest glint of how he used to look at me, but it was blanketed with seeming bleakness. He smiled still, but it was sad. "I'm pleased you take my lessons to memory. They will serve you well."

"As all your lessons do, sir," I responded automatically, his words barely grazing into my consciousness as I focused on what he next would say about Grindelwald.

The glint receding slightly, Dumbledore continued, "It came to me that I felt nothing from those pictures. They looked like him, but they didn't feel right…the outward shell is hardly as telling as what is emoted. And it seemed as if I felt him more in…other places."

"Myself," I said, my jaw tightening. If he'd sensed that thing in me before, and hadn't said anything, he'd just let me suffer on purpose. 

Tension creased his forehead. "I wasn't sure at all. Nothing like this had been heard of. In fact, it didn't really cross my mind as an option until recently. As you said, Grindelwald seemed to be alive. Polyjuice would only work if they had hairs of his, and to maintain it for that long…it wouldn't be possible."

"Then how do you explain the photographs?" I asked, my voice sounding slightly strained. I forced my hands not to play with my wand or cuff, or dig white-knuckled into the chair armrests. 

"Ah…that is the brilliant part that almost escaped me," Dumbledore said softly. He stood up, turning to his window where light still splayed in. Unlike the dungeons or Zwipp's office, Dumbledore's was glowing with light and fresh air. Of course. Staring outward, he spoke to that freshness and light. "He transplanted himself." An odd smile curled his lips, and I felt that sense in my own self. As hideously as it had been used, the prospect of such unheard of knowledge and power couldn't help but be appreciated on some level. At least, by myself, and apparently Dumbledore. The curved mouth stayed in that position as the explanation unfolded. "He literally becomes another person, taking control of them, and then they melt away into only his being. But it's a gradual process. You see, he doesn't start out that way. First he shifted his consciousness into another…living with them, in a sense. At that stage, it can hardly be detected."

The hairs shot straight out on my neck, trying to pull free. 

He continued, not seeming to notice. "Then, he takes over layer by layer. But not merely controlling the person, no, he can't simply do that. He has to morph with them."

"Become them," I whispered, sounding hoarse from the strained clenching of my throat. "Or rather, they become something…"

"They become one," he finished quietly. "But only for a short time, until he destroys all essence of the other, burning their fuel purely for his life. Once the transformation into only his being is made, that body starts to decay, and he must find a new one. None have been strong enough to sustain him, to give him enough lifetime to find a better alternative." He was now standing beside me, peering down. My heart beat rapidly beneath my sweater as I stared up at him. I pulled my mask over my face, holding it there firmly as he sat on the edge of his desk, carefully watching me. "You see, Mr. Riddle…Tom…what he had planned."

"He wanted to merge with me." He had merged with me, in part. Sickness and bile was my only response to any measure of losing control, and this certainly resided in that realm. I only hoped my face wasn't as green as the illness I felt might have made it seem. I tried to focus on Dumbledore, on hearing what he said next, hoping something useful might come out of him.

"Yes…he wanted to. He wasn't very successful." The odd note in Dumbledore's voice caught me. It was a sorrowful pride in his eyes. It didn't make sense and rather bothered me since I couldn't quite categorize it. He simply droned on. "He tried years ago, though not in quite this desperate manner. But then, he wasn't in need of a body. Desperation often leads to reckless brilliance, though that brilliance is undercut by its uncontrolled execution."

How he fit morality lessons into everything was a truly annoying habit of his. He sounded like the half-pence fortuneteller Snicks spoke of at carnivals he'd visited. I gritted my teeth, desiring only the bare facts and a plan of attack. "And how, precisely, was he made…unsuccessful?" I'd given him an exquisite opportunity to boast. Needless to say, of course he took it under the guise of explanation. 

"I cannot explain fully what transpired, Mr. Riddle. But you do deserve to know a bit," he acquiesced. How thoughtful of him. 

Sitting back down, he said, "Part of it, Mr. Riddle, is simply the fact that you are not easy to control. You should be very pleased with that. It was from your struggle that he became more apparent to me, as he continued to spill his essence in and you kept it divided. Congratulations, you have quite the stubborn mind." 

Why he bothered with placating humor as if I were a child was beyond me. I smiled thinly, not replying, hoping he'd just get on with it. I wanted answers, not comfort or amusement. 

He finally returned to the point. "But it was only when you came to me in my classroom that it began to be clear. It didn't all fit until I was called to the Ministry today, to hear of Mara's discovery. He uses up others' bodies…he needed someone strong to last him awhile. He's been pushing so frantically of late, dividing his essence to conquer as much as he can, and the strain was overwhelming. You, of course, were not only a matter of ego with him since he failed before, but you were strong." He gave a faint pause, and then his tone dropped monumentally. "And, you were close to me, geographically speaking," a slight pause ensued there. He finished in a manner as if he were admitting something guiltily, "and possibly he thought he might sway you, if I'm not mistaken. Or entice you."

"I'm flattered," I said dryly.

His mouth twitched at that, but a full smile didn't form. "I wasn't going to tell you, I didn't think it safe just yet. But Headmaster Dippet insisted I share that much." There was more, I could tell. His eyes traced my face, seeming to pierce every crevice, but all he said was, "Anyway, he wishes to see you in his office immediately. Go straight there." He then went silent. 

I blinked in disbelief. He was dismissing me? Now? That was barely sufficient detail. I began to open my mouth when Mara cheerfully cut in.

"Close that, Dearie, or you'll catch flies." I wanted to burn her with a death glare, but instead I gritted my teeth and stood. She rose as well, clasping my thin arms in her hands. She smiled up at me, croaking, "I really had no reason to stay for this."

_You're telling me_, I thought dryly, itching to cast her hands off.

 She was still prattling, "But…I begged Albus, when he brought me here from the Ministry to talk to Dippet. I just wanted to see you again, after all these years. You saved my life, in a sense. Magic fold can't forget something like that. I had to make sure you were all right."

I'd done it for money, and ego. I'd give the money back to her if she'd leave me alone. Her sentiment was sweet in a rather pathetic way, I supposed, but my mind had greater things to focus on. I simply smiled back, saying, "I only wish I could do more for you." _Since apparently, you're well off._

Giving a last chuckle, she left the room. I held the door for her, and then was ready to exit as well when I stopped. I paused, feeling his eyes on my back. It was like turning into a spear, but I had to. Shifting, I met his gaze and asked, "Two more things…"

He looked both amused and cautious, setting aside the wand he'd just picked up. Folding his hands in front of himself, he said, "And they are?"

"How did Grindelwald's body die?" 

A cryptic smile was my answer, much more unsettling than I'm sure the truth was. My imagination far outweighed his capabilities, surely. He responded with, "Well, I cannot be sure. If it was from what I suspect, it was a pleasant surprise, for I didn't think it had worked. Let me just say that when he kidnapped and left a bit of himself in me, I later left something in him. And that Transfigurations truly is the most powerful art when used properly, I find." 

I would get no clear answers out of him. Forcing back any sneer I simply said, "Of course, sir. And I needn't ask the other." I left then quickly, eager to return to the comparative darkness of the Great Hall. The light from his room hurt my eyes -

That thought nagged at me. It wasn't that I detested the brightness. It was more something niggling at the back of my mind, creeping forward with every step I took towards the Great Hall. I found Flitwick gone. While this meant I had to wait another day to fully pick apart his mind, I was rather relieved. My constant headache was pounding, and reading in Slytherin was all I desired. I began to walk there, to…

Slytherin…

Light…

Hurt…

I spun around and ran back to his room, ready to burst in with what had revealed itself in my mind. The memory of the tendrils inside of me, where I finally forced them out, spilled forth. Dumbledore had been the source of that exposure. Whatever he had done to me had uncovered the Dark Lord's energy, forcing Grindelwald to face Dumbledore's awareness of him…but it had faded before caught.

Faded, or hid somewhere else.

That night was when Dumbledore had been sure Grindelwald had been in me, even if he hadn't known yet then how. My mind tried to place how he'd done it, but in my utter, violent state of infuriation, no answer came to me. He had sensed or been part of those powerful tendrils that left me shaking. He had sent the energy through the door, casting light on my dilated eyes, waking me as he forced to consciousness Grindelwald's attempted hold on me, exposing it until it fled from not wanting to face us.

As well as waking Simon. 

Grindelwald's essence could be divided…

My mouth dropped open, but not to say the password. The final cover was torn, revealing the hideous portrait of truth. 

'You two deserve each other…'

I backed away slowly, my mind reeling, spinning lopsidedly as everything crooked suddenly straightened. Grindelwald had also approached Simon. Only, he was not above agreeing to him. The dangled fruit of revenge and power he couldn't reach on his own, but Grindelwald coiled around it and brought the branch down to him to taste. The putrid Muggle reference was fitting for the despicable creature. 

Dumbledore knew…or did he? The way he'd been staring at me, it was as if he were still testing me in some way. I thought back over the past weeks, how his trained eye had followed me, and how he'd distanced after that lightening night. He'd backed away, as if to try and see a clearer picture, gazing at some angle he couldn't get at when closer. 

Perhaps he had still sensed Grindelwald, even after the Dark Lord had left me…only, he couldn't tell where it was coming from. He still couldn't tell it was Simon. Technically, he couldn't tell it was in me…he could only expose the essence after he had placed that protection spell. If he'd still sensed Grindelwald fleetingly, it was still always in the presence of Simon and I, for we had class together. It would stand to reason that he would assume Grindelwald was still attacking me…or trying to lure me. There would be no reason for desperation to reach to other students, by all rationale. He hadn't known until today how desperately Grindelwald needed a body. 

Or perhaps his prejudice was still blinding him, a biting part of my psyche muttered. He could say all he wanted how he was merely first making sure I was safe since I was the next biggest target after him, but I refused to believe it. Dumbledore wanted me to have been the evil he could catch. That plan ruined, he was now shoving me aside to be baby-sat by Dippet while he went off and did whatever he was up to now. That shining noble honor blazed too brightly for me. If what I suspected were true, he was a hypocrite. If he truly did place everyone else before him, than he was a fool. In truth, I believed he fell somewhere in the middle…yes…quite right. A hypocritical fool he was indeed. 

The word twist brought little humor as I stared, the carved statues seeming to glare right back at me, urging me to do something. I cared little if Grindelwald, Simon, and Dumbledore all slew each other. In fact, that would be reason enough for me to start celebrating the Christmas season. But the murderous rage of being their puppet, the humiliated, unsatisfied desire for revenge burned. I wanted nothing glowing for them to live on, not even the memory of a glorified death. 

I had no intention of placing myself in danger, only ensuring my survival. A storm settled in my eyes, but it was calm. The delicately indomitable extension of my being, my wand, slid out into my cool, long fingers. I had no interest in playing anyone's role, least of all one so black and white as hero and villain. Those pawns merely shifted on the board in my mind, settling into a perfect placement. Once established I spun around, sure of where my step would lead me. 


	32. Chapter 32: The Diverted Road to Damascu...

**Chapter 32: The Diverted Road to ****Damascus**

 My vision tunneled. As I approached him, need blackened my periphery until my sole focus was clear. Over and over, the same thoughts wove themselves into binding nets in my mind. Simon knew what Grindelwald had been doing to me. It was the only explanation for his cryptic jealousy this semester. He'd known, and in some sick way, he had felt envy even over that vile, tormenting attention which I'd been paid. His previous words now revealed him to me, as did the gaze in his eyes that night in Slytherin.  Grindelwald had toyed with him, lured him in… and yet, still regarded me as a higher priority. Dumbledore counted even higher with him, perhaps. I frowned, ignoring the ugly twist that came with the knowledge that they'd thought of me as a tool. Instead, I struggled to redirect my focus, to unleash it somewhere useful for me. 

Again, that focus came back to my _fellow Slytherin. The corners of my mouth dipped lower. Simon was nothing but a puppet being jerked about, his strings the promise. Should Grindelwald cut them, Simon would try and strangle me with the loose ends. He was possibly that desperate._

I felt no pity for him--only a desire to crush. I twitched my wand instinctively, and out shot quivering sparks of blue and green. Months had gone by where my life hadn't been fully at my own command. Nights of horrors tried to force their way through my defenses; in a way, it had been a lifetime of that. And now, some pathetic, inferior, sniveling wretch who'd been right under my own _nose_ was revealed as a conspirator. He was exposed as having known of my suffering, rejoicing in it–and finding me an unworthy waste of Grindelwald's torturous effort at the same time. The acidic reasoning melted down for a moment the barricades in my mind, letting the past slip through.

Damp floors, cold halls... such trivial details hadn't changed. Only I had. Curling my fingers around the smooth yew, I knew my power could now better match my anger However, what exactly I was going to do, I hadn't yet decided. 

That realization slowed me. I wouldn't be hasty. The instinct still leaped upon me at times, but I managed to refrain. Muffled voices countered my urges by seeping inside the cracks in my defenses, tugging my consciousness outward.

It wasn't Christmas, or New Year's. The day hadn't that poetic touch to it. There wasn't blood draining down the walls, a legion of dark minions skittering up the towers, devastation and decay and loss strewn about. 

There were just two figures, the lone animation upon Hogwart's vast grounds. Plants slunk underground, and the limbs of the trees seemed to shift–it was a subtle recession of life and activity. After a few seconds even that motion stilled. But it wasn't a moment of serene perfection, or of complacent settling. No, the air crackled with power that coursed invisible palpitations throughout the land.    Energy itself held its breath, seeming to wait for the coming shift in the universe to knock it in a new direction. 

Intrinsically, I felt it. The moment slid beneath my skin, the magnitude of power thickening to blockage my blood flow. My lungs struggled to push my own heart on, to subdue the universal connection that I found choking. 

Once I restrained my senses, I realized my gaze had been drawn to Dumbledore alone. His shrouded robes were like his stance, like everything--still. Or rather, he seemed to draw every chaotic bit of energy inside himself, holding it motionless. Annoyed, I realized even my breath had been captured in anticipation, and I harshly blew it out. Flattening myself against the stones of Hogwarts halls, I didn't allow myself to be drawn in. Not yet. My emotions faded like breath from glass as I distanced myself from the situation and let it play out before me. 

Simon – or what used to be Simon – was the opposite of his opponent. His energy fanned out, sparking and jumping from him as he trembled. Simon's center was all but gone; Grindelwald was clearly struggling to maintain a grasp on the dissolving remains of his host's being. It took only moments for me to decipher what was going on.

_Dumbledore was drawing Grindelwald out_. His brow was furrowed, an oddly personal glint of concern melting the steel from his blue eyes. A small sneer drew back my lips. Of course Dumbledore would maintain concern for Simon's well-being. After my Housemate had thrown his traitorous lot in with the man who tried to make a show of my death, Dumbledore felt it necessary to protect him. A bitter hatred rose at that unfairness; I was certain that Dumbledore would never offer such fatherly concern to me. I could only hope that I might one day throw that instinct of his back into his sanctimonious face. But now wasn't the time. I was busy wracking my mind for the best way to deal with the horror in front of me; any way. No way was _beneath _me. I wasn't willing to die as Dumbledore probably would from his ludicrous badge of heroism.

I cared not for the twisting pain on Simon's face – rather, I was drawn to ponder the magnitude of Dumbledore's offense. It was an awesome power I hungered for, though not by the conduit of Dumbledore's limiting emotions. Had it been me where he stood now, neither Simon nor Grindelwald would be alive long enough to threaten me again. 

The shivering spirit of Grindelwald, the taint of near-death made tangible, snaked tendrils from Simon's body. It curled out, as if to ensnare whatever life it could. I recoiled, the half-living essence almost making me vomit as a natural defensive barrier slid over my countenance and thoughts, the inside mirroring the outside. This disruption caused Dumbledore to face me. He must have melded himself so fully with the frail fabrics of life that my slight magical vibration twanged alarms within his consciousness. His forceful gaze met mine. It didn't sputter out in his movement, nor did it crash upon my solid surface and dissipate. It locked and kept flowing, until I jerked back. I didn't need his protection…I refused it defiantly right then, unwilling to hang myself on the line he tossed out to me. It was the same line he was trying to toss to Simon. 

Instead, I chose to reign myself in as Simon/Grindelwald stumbled forward. It was a disgusting hybrid that was less than whole. I truly didn't know what to call the thing before me. It wasn't a necromancer, nor was it possessed. A puppet, perhaps, but even that didn't fit the utter pathetic state of the being. No, none of those terms were right. It was…

A shadow. A thing warped and fading, following its rivals about. But not even spite could fan its life-flames enough to keep them alive. Both Grindelwald and Simon were leeching life from one another, and slowly dying from the cycle. I allowed myself a smile at the irony – two lives, both equating to only half of one. I could think of so many who fell into that category. 

I was amazed at the mockery in his eyes, which were blackened and hooded with illness. What ego would survive this hideous state? Apparently, one as delusional as the one before me.

The shadow opened its mouth to release a hateful, rasping hiss. Glibly it spat, I don't need you." Extending a flippant hand, it flicked its wrist in a careless brush. The power was in direct contrast to its motion, hitting my shield with such force that even I staggered a bit. The words incited an ugly wrath within me, causing me to draw forth my wand. Nobody used me, let alone disregarded me. No one had in years – never again. I hadn't given in to Grindelwald as Simon had, not even before Dumbledore had interfered, and I would never need Dumbledore's assistance again - of that I would make sure. From what I had seen in my days as his student, he had only been slightly better than Grindelwald. .  To him, I was a pathetic, poor, misguided Mudblood who had succeeded by his help, but never could be reached because of my flaws. Whatever hand he_ nobly_ might have offered me, I of course brushed aside.

With good reason. I didn't need it. I'd never needed it. Never. If I had seemed to reach out, it was only to use him in the end.

It was utter confidence in my knowledge that Dumbledore would play the hero, as well as pure emotional response, that enabled me to reply to the shadow, "that would depend. If I were willing to give you help, I'd say it was an offer you couldn't pass up at the moment." Derision clearly lurked beneath my tone. 

The dark being paused slightly, its brow furrowing at that before it angrily lashed out, "Liar!" The voice came down a notch, holding some childish undertones as it continued, "you never keep your promises. Saying I was the only one who could assist you, and then picking Damien –" The pitch dropped, the face on the shadow taut as lines pulled across it in faint struggles, and it continued, "you little Mudblood. I came to the orphanage. I _chose_ you…you think anyone has treated you better than I would have?"

Higher the tone came. "You chose a _Gryffindor over me at times. A little girl –"_

Lower, but halting, the levels shifting rapidly now. "You think no one uses you? Whatever else are you here to exist for? Locked in your past, doomed to live in its empty shell -"

Grindelwald had been inside me, drawing out now whatever he'd taken from the farthest recesses of my mind. I knew his ploy, and yet I felt compelled to respond to it. My thin fingers tightened against the yew, and I was all but deaf to the mumblings of Dumbledore at my side. "I never let anyone use me –"

The two voices of the shadow became one. "The eternal life of the Mudblooded murdere-"

Silencing it was self-survival. Angry blue sparks shot from my wand. I refrained from green out of pure psychological instinct – Dumbledore was still there, and I wasn't that out of control. Though the heat of my anger was close to the surface, outwardly my face became as cool and hard as a fortress tower. Oddly, as I locked eyes with the shadow I saw a different face – that of Simon. Anger, confusion and pain welled within the phantom features – he clearly wasn't in his right mind. I knew the effect Grindelwald could have on another, especially one with a weaker mind than mine. It mattered not, for he was still, like most, a thing to me. He'd made his choice. Right before Dumbledore, my priceless act of retribution against Blunt had almost been tarnished with his spewing cattiness. Whatever reasons he had, there was no excuse for them. I had no badge of honor to bear – and I relished that I was too smart for it. 

The shadow struggled with me – apparently I had enough strength to prevent it from existing easily. I longed to possess the touch Dumbledore had; to learn how he bent the fabrics of existence to his whim. I couldn't use certain magics, I knew, because no one was to know of my private studies. Still, I held him at bay until a voice booming with the power of an erupting volcano rang out. 

"_Release my students!"_

I was flung down so hard formless blobs danced before my eyes as I crashed upon the frozen ground. They spun, converging back into the reality before me, just in time to see wind rushing into Dumbledore's open mouth. It chilled as it passed through me, tingling and crawling up my skin on its path to the magnet of power he had become. 

Frenzied anger and desperation rode on waves of reality, tangling inside Dumbledore. The essence of Grindelwald blindly thrust out, leaving its former host to fall by the wayside – as it had done me. The powerful force thrust Dumbledore back, making him stagger. The wild, mangled look he'd possessed the last time he'd encountered the Dark Lord flew across his countenance again, leaving me fascinated as well as disgusted. Feebly, I pushed myself back, instinctively curling my wand in my fist, but refusing to leave. 

Epic battles needed neither armies nor gods nor tragic love, merely two human natures intertwined in a single body. It was not much taller than six feet in height, and jerked about in near-convulsions, each master fighting to constrain the other's life-line into subjugation.   It was as if the battle of life itself unfolded before me, replete with the kind of meaning legendary orators could merely glance upon in their tales.

I let them fight, concerned solely with how I'd fare when the ashes rose. 

Rise they did, in a sound too base to be triumphant. Dumbledore's cry resonated out across the grounds, vibrating resistance from some part of himself that was normally just hinted at. It was a part too often shrouded in his feeble ideals, using blatant hypocrisy and unmitigated ego to suffice. I wasn't blind to his tremendous flaws even now, with his need to protect_ his_ students, as if I were mere property along the lines of Simon.  

No, not even now as the world around me felt flooded, growing heavy and thick. The sky darkened and began to weep as the mangled, weakened, twisted spirit of Grindelwald was expelled from Dumbledore. Clouds converged, folding in upon themselves in slow shudders as the Dark Lord was absorbed into nature. But it didn't end there. Pale, trembling fingers somehow still being held strong, Dumbledore raised his hands as the dark force rushed out, pushing it as nature pounded it, flattening Grindelwald into nothing. Defying both physics and natural laws, his very essence and energy was being crushed and removed from the fabric of the universe. Exhausted and raging thunder sounded, clearing reality of the taint Grindelwald had become. 

It was a slow and cold process, a bitter and harsh end that drained Life from its very effort, and all was still and chilled and broken in the aftermath. Everything slumped in unsteadiness, rebuilding and regrouping in quiet uncertainty rather than joyous tidings. Bare trickles of air moved, nothing restarted, until he began to stagger. 

Wings of wind rushed to support Dumbledore, holding him upright. It was an act of servitude that beneath his deluded nobility I'd no doubt he enjoyed. 

I was upon the ground, forcing my way out of dizzy incoherency as everything resettled. I swallowed down any bile that rose from my initial shock over his feat. In my staggering first steps, I rose on my own, deconstructing what had occurred before me. Reason played out, thrumming the chords of my consciousness amid the headache banging in my temples. Dumbledore had still nearly failed because of his weak ideals, which were a mistake I'd never make. I valued my life – it was too hard-won for me to endanger it out of self-deluded 'heroism'. And I refused to give Grindelwald the credit of being a worthy opponent in the end, regardless of the hold he'd had upon me. I'd never fall to anyone.

The word_ opponent_ struck me then as it sprang up in my mind, then slunk away to the corner of my consciousness moments later. I hated to long for the power Dumbledore possessed, and soothed my ego with the knowledge that I'd soon wield the same power, and better than he ever could. 

Staring at the Headmaster, I found it was hard to find much to be in awe of if I looked at him rightly. He was trembling, his eyes were glazed, and he looked to be on the verge of keeling over. Automatically, I went to him to hold him up with my firm grip, swallowing the disgust such contact brought me. He was mumbling again, nearly spitting, but I forced myself to listen to him.

"Murdered…he – he was saying…and there – there were Muggle deaths – Tom," his gaze felt like icicles piercing me. I let myself bleed inside until it froze, my gaze calm though my heart pounded. Dumbledore was clearly incoherent, and I remained still, neither helping nor hindering. I had one thing to find out. 

What had Grindelwald unleashed about me in Dumbledore's mind?

He kept repeating the same words over and over, and I held still until the layer of panicked ice in my chest melted down, then bubbled up with a manic desire to cover. Making my voice gentle, I pretended to interpret that, "he said he killed them…"

Damn the man. He stubbornly twisted in my hold, denying, "He didn't say that…he didn't have the chance to say who…who did it…but he – how could he know –"

"He was lying." I was adamant, my voice a bit too strong for my liking. I knew Dumbledore was too lowly to understand the magnificence of my family's murder by my own hand. 

Dumbledore twisted in weak confusion, mumbling, "maybe…maybe…"

My hand itched for my wand, but his gaze was somehow still too sharp at intervals for me to pull it out. It stayed locked at my side, and our conversation stalled for moments which stretched as wide as the ocean. 

His cries had alarmed the castle. How long it took for them to actually come, I can't be sure. But eventually, I heard voices nearing, followed by Zwipp's appearance. His face was at first shocked, but then a firm façade crept over it, and he took Dumbledore from me. His look commanded that I speak.

I was ready. "Professor, the Deputy Headmaster and I figured out – separately – that Grindelwald was here. I should have left it to him, but after what the Dark one had done, I simply couldn't."

Zwipp's eyes were guarded, so I hurried on. "It was foolish of me. It's just that when I knew that Grindelwald had been invading people – that he had invaded_ me_…" I allowed a strain to show. It pained me to show any weakness, but it was needed for a believable front. Eyeing the pitiful being of Dumbledore made it easier for me as I said, "I held him off, until Dumbledore could retract Grindelwald in full. I still don't think the Professor's well. Grindelwald said he killed some Muggles, and –"

Zwipp interrupted me then as he began to pull Dumbledore back to the castle. "Muggle deaths…by Grindelwald…well, perhaps it was done to entice you to him – I mean…never mind." His eyes showed pity, even a bit of pity for me, and I wished to yank his long hair off his head by the handfuls. It was clear that some knew from the Ministry that the Riddles were deceased. Of course, they hadn't shared it with me. Whether that was because they didn't wish to bother me, or because they didn't trust me, I wasn't sure. But I could take no chances, even with adults as dense as the ones that surrounded me. 

I didn't speak their names, giving a shrug of innocence to any implication that I might have intimate knowledge of my _family's deaths. Part of me wished to grind my victory into everyone's faces, but I kept it for myself alone. The only way to ensure my survival was to always maintain a distance from the others around me. That wasn't hard…I was already above them. _

Dumbledore twisted in Zwipp's hands, his eyes cast to a fallen form which I'd easily forgotten in spinning my lies. A groan came then from the ground, as if in response to Dumbledore's gaze. Plants were slowly curling back to the surface, and through the weeds the frail body of Simon could be seen. My eyes narrowed, and I said, "I'll take care of him." I barely noted Zwipp's nod as he hurried Dumbledore off, sure I'd follow him to the infirmary. 

The remains of Simon were sprawled in a heap before me, convulsing in slight, rhythmic jerks. Broken. The way the dusk was settling shadows across him, he almost appeared deformed. 

He would have appeared deformed to me anyway. 

His clothing was torn and threadbare, his shell unkempt. The utter desolation I saw tried to tug my mind back into my past, but I resolutely pushed forward. Standing over him, I blocked the sun as I leaned down. He moaned, his unclear dark eyes focusing on me for a moment. I swallowed my disgust and indifferently nudged his body with my foot, applying just enough pressure for him to instinctively roll away. 

As I knelt down, speaking to his back, words in whispers rolled out. "Best angle I've seen you from yet."

No response. More petulant words of triumph and harshness sprang to my mind. I felt it a just reward for me to drain all the pleasure I could from this, enough to fill seventeen years' worth of if possible. But reason told me that wasn't possible.

"Help…me…"

The creation of language was a beautiful moment in the history of the world. It enabled one human to relate to another, to connect on an abstract plane. Thoughts concreted into expression, ideas took new forms in sharing minds…and salvation could apparently be requested. 

Laughter rose in me, a disbelieving wheeze sounding high and cold, stifled only by the meaning behind the marriage of his two words. 

_Help._

_Him.___

The magnitude of it swelled my entire awareness into my unfaltering being -- my consciousness…my essence. "Help _you?" The fact that anyone could utter those words, least of all him… if at all possible, more derision welled inside me._

"Simon Peter…what _would_ your master say to this request? Quite the denial of him. For that alone, I ought to offer you something, shouldn't I? In fact, I find I want to. Here's a helpful guidance, Simon. A truth, rather. _Nobody_ can save another. There's no such thing as being_ saved_." Bile filled every inch of me at the hypocritical drivel he'd uttered, driving me to add, "I've seen that confirmed as a fact." 

I rolled back on my heels, adopting a casual pose that belied the hardness in my eyes. I knew I should hurry on, but I couldn't resist driving home my point in a conversational tone. "Perhaps you mean simply, help you live? Now, why? Why would you want to keep on living, Simon?" In truth, I had to wonder over the reason for it.

I had crushed him. I was infinitely superior to him. Life ebbed from him, and the whole reason for it happening was my existence and his reaction to it over the years. That was all he existed for, to react to my actions, or to wail over what plague he thought I'd brought his life. So why indeed would something so pitiful as he was desire to carry on, sinking his heels deeper into the muck formed by his past existence for years to come? 

I had a burning desire to know the longer I spoke. Gripping his shirtfront then, I curled my bony fingers into the cloth. Ignoring his pathetic breath of fright, I asked harshly, "Why, Simon?" 

Bleary eyes met mine, so cold and empty with a mere flicker of consciousness. What basic functions of existence were left in him formed an answer. "Ask…yourself…"

Warmth spread inside me. Not burning, but certainly not comforting. I felt a dizzy rush, as if I'd been rocked off my center. I threw out the first words that came. "You're_ pathetic _–"

"Can't breathe –"

"You compare_ me_ to _you_?"

"Tom –"

"Won't you _ever_ learn?"

"I –"

"_Any_ of you?"

"What are you –"

"I would never fall so low."

"My breath –"

"Is already lifeless."

"I can't –"

"Do it yourself? No, I know, Simon. You can't survive on your own. Not as you wish to. No, you can't at all anymore, can you? Neither can Grindelwald, can he? Neither can Dippet function well without me, or our sniveling classmates form a coherent thought without me. Neither can the Bl – _Muggles _survive without their precious religions and witless leaders. Though, they never seem to realize that, do they? None of you do. _No one_ does but me. It's amazing how stubbornly some people will latch onto a delusion, twist reality to their whim when they have no real foundation to do so. May their heaven forefend an independent thought, lest it be godless…or worse, lest it show just how shallowly, self-mockingly _low they are –"_

"You're wrong –"

That snapped my consciousness down, dragging it back into awareness of my body. I was still hovering over him, fingers dug into the barely moving chest. My pale hands were indistinguishable against his white shirt and gray skin. Tearing them away, rubbing the stench of him off, I asked snidely, "Really? You wish to say you don't need my help now?"

His voice was weak but emphatic in its plea of, "no."

Annoyed, I persisted, "Oh? Then, you wish to tell me of someone besides myself to whom my theory applies? Do tell. Dumbledore?" The name sprang out instinctively, my eyes darted upward and scoured the view for unwanted visitors, but we were still alone in the field outside Hogwarts. My gaze found its way to the path along which Dumbledore had chased Grindelwald. Emphatically I refused the notion that Dumbledore matched up to me, and I racked my mind to find a time when the man had needed another. With his ways, he must have reached out pathetically for help some time. He _must have…I just wasn't aware of its occurrence. He did not match up to me, he couldn't uphold my ideals. He couldn't have survived what I had, with his hypocritical caring and foolish notions of love –_

"Not…Dumbledore…"

My gaze went back to the paling Simon at that. It was fascinating, in some ways, to see the small licks of flame evaporate from his eyes. It was an objective observation of mine, a simple musing. My mind was still centered upon my own puzzle. My inability to uncover that universal flaw in humanity in Dumbledore shook me, and I shoved it aside. I tried to dismiss it flippantly, sure of my reasoning and superiority, but cold fingers of doubt clung on some scaffold in my mind. I could never shake the doubt which Dumbledore instilled in me fully. That was infuriating, something I reproached myself for until it silenced in some distant corner of my consciousness. 

Room existed now for me to focus on Simon's parting comments. Flinging words down upon him in pelts, I asked, "Not Dumbledore? You see some other part of my theory wrong?" I didn't care what he thought. Not at all. For sheer amusement I added, "What is it you find so wrong, then?"

I saw what his lips were forming before sound came. They opened upwardly first, ready to shrink into a smaller oval at the last syllable. His eyes betrayed what he was to say, latching onto the subject of the unfinished word. Me.

Instinctively my hand clamped over his mouth, tightening around his jaw. He groaned, writhing weakly, but I trapped that word inside of him. I wouldn't let such wrongness breathe. 

A Muggle death. How appropriate. 

Minutes later, seeing Zwipp return, I spoke with all the sincere grievance humans truly had for one another when they looked deeply enough within themselves. "I did my best, sir. But I couldn't keep him alive. He was too weak to keep breathing, no matter what I did." 

I saw Zwipp kneel down, his eyes sorrowful, but calm and stoic. To console, he placed a damp hand upon my shoulder. I fought back a cringe at the touch as he said, "I know you did your best. When I saw him lying there, I didn't think there was much of a chance. For him or Albus. Thankfully, it looks like our Deputy Headmaster, at least, will make it."

My lips curled in the opposite direction they were inclined to. "Of course he will. I can't tell you how that makes me feel." Breaking his gaze, I stared back down at Simon. It was mostly an empty feeling that the sight brought me. Faint satisfaction, but not full satiation. I wished it were more pleasing; but then, Simon counted for so little with me it wasn't surprising his death meant nothing great.

 Zwipp appropriately misinterpreted my look. "Not even you can control something like this."

I ducked my head to hide a smile, one filled with disdain over his simplicity. "People should learn that lesson, sir." But I wouldn't have to. 

At long last, I had proven that.


	33. Epilogue: Infractus Laureola

**Epilogue: Infractus Laureola**

The entrance to Slytherin changed during my last days there. A fingertip's trace in a sidewinder design now drew open the walls. What happened to Ms. Tress, I didn't know. Some said the Baron had finally carried her off and thrown her teasing portrait into the forest. More likely, someone tarnished the picture, and it was removed, hidden away in some crook in the castle.

The bustle of life at Hogwarts was mostly done for the year. Most of my class had left, and the empty rooms of Slytherin echoed with the sound of my sure tread. It felt right to be alone here, and I somewhat regretted leaving. Somewhat. My thoughts were as they'd been all day, focused internally on my coming life.

Even the leaving ceremony in the Great Hall had been a blur. No, not really. It was a distraction to which I'd paid minute attention. My hands had been filled with well-wishing clasps and awards. I'd even received a Medal for Magical Merit, said to be for my outstanding performance over the trying years. Little attention had been given to Grindelwald on my behalf, and in truth I was grateful for the inconspicuousness. The deaths of the Riddles were swept under the rugs or tossed into full closets in the Ministry's and certain professors' minds. I gave my fine performance the credit for that, rather than Dippet's protectiveness or Zwipp's favoritism, both of which I had earned anyway. The papers sensationalized Dumbledore, crowning him with laurels I wished had thorns. His expression was sometimes as pained as if they did. I met every gaze he directed at me steadily, though my insides shook slightly. But I always stubbornly turned to steel inside. He could prove nothing. I had won. In time, I'd show even him that.

I hadn't yet. He'd stopped me as I'd crossed the threshold of the Great Hall, him still standing in the brightly lit room as I passed by. His voice, rather like prickling needles scratching me, bade me stop with a single word.

"Congratulations." His tone was mild, easily being taken as sincere to most.

I turned back to him. My eyes didn't quite meet his if I stared straight ahead. I fell a sliver short of him, and my jaw tightened as I forced my chin reluctantly upward. "Thank you."

Commotion revolved around us, light revelry catching all shallow attention spans. Neither he nor I paid any notice. Some gravity kept us anchored in a calm, unmentioned, but evident face-off. His hands were wrapped behind him, no doubt residing in a firm hold pressed against the small of his back. His stance was completely familiar to me now, and the thought made me almost smirk until I realized he was similarly appraising me.

His voice was no longer hoarse from his feat six months ago; it had regained its naturally deep tone and solid cadence. It was only at certain times I noticed him taking a longer pause, at certain words lowering his voice. But the transitions were always subtle, sometimes impossible to pick up clearly. In that even sound and with a dip of his head, he now said, "Not a surprising end." At my silence, he added, "To the awards ceremony or the job offer distribution. To anything, really." His gaze turning thoughtful, a trace of warmth or sadness hinted at in his eyes. "I never questioned your talent."

Out of my mouth came, "You didn't think I transfigured the matchstick the first day of class." Then, I immediately added, "Or, as you said, you were surprised by it."

He gave a puzzling smile at that, a small one not hidden by his whitening beard. "Oh, one can always be surprised, Tom. Though, in retrospect, I would have to be less surprised that you were capable of many things that amazed me upon first meeting you." I hated the expression on his face, one of selective fondness, sadness, regret and hope. I saw only his ego in all of it.

"I'm sure you won't make that mistake again, sir." I turned to go, caught again by his voice.

He took my words seriously, thoughtfully, though didn't appear scathed by them. He simply said, "I trust myself to work on ensuring that. But I'm sure I shall make other errors; it is the way we change, which everyone decidedly has. It's good to keep that in mind. We should all learn from the past." His eyes bored into mine.

I did not flinch, though my chest tightened for a brief second. Infuriated with myself, I said with stiff pleasantry, "I concur."

"Do you?" I didn't respond to that as he added, "It's good to hear that, Mr. Riddle. Most do not. Or they don't truly. It isn't all about intelligence or talent, though they are difficult enough to bring to fruition. As is acknowledging the past."

"As is change." I softened my bluntness with a carefully carved smile. "And all of that is rather subjective, is it not?"

"To a point, Mr. Riddle." His calm tone was infuriating – I couldn't tell which was worse, his voice or his gaze. I debated as he droned on. "But the way we see things is not the only way, nor the full truth."

Truth had no absolutes; I at least wasn't afraid to admit that. I stared at him steadily, words on the tip of my tongue.

A moment of silence passed, and he quietly said down to me, "Though I think now isn't the time to preach to you. I wish you well, Tom. I always have." His upright form gave a final nod to which I mechanically responded. Then he stepped back into the lighted room. I headed down the stairs, walking away from the crowd into the shadowed corridors winding to Slytherin.

"And what wonder is Tom Riddle off to discover now?" The voice was hesitant, and I was likewise so in responding. Slowly turning in the empty corridor outside Slytherin, I saw the small figure of Annie standing before me. She was dressed as nicely as she could afford, having attended the leaving ceremony for Bill. Her brown eyes looked plaintively at me, and yet there was a sliver of strength there. I took credit for that. She slowly approached me, adding, "The Ministry wants you quite badly, I imagine."

"You imagine a lot," was my response. Then, relenting, I said, "Yes, they did offer me a position. I don't think I shall take it right now, though."

She didn't look surprised, which somewhat...surprised me. In an even voice, she said, "Well, at least you're not tying yourself down like Randy is. Marrying that..._girl_." I had to smile, for she made the word girl sound like the worst possible insult to Sammy.

In scant time, I was already well prepared to dismiss her. Locking my worn suitcase, I had no wistful glance to share. Hogwarts had been a stepping stone, a thing of mere rock which I'd dismantled and reformed inside myself. Only memories of the Chamber brought a pang of longing and desire. But it would remain and soon be fulfilled of its purpose. As for myself, I was ready to infuse the world with the purpose I'd create for myself. No weak wizards would invade me; no politicians flaunt me; no Muggles condescend. I wouldn't have to hide my studies or temper my path. I needed only myself. If anything, my surroundings so far had shown me what I wished to eliminate from my being.

Since Grindelwald's fall from a career I was sure wouldn't be highly remembered, I'd solidified my plans for my future. Wisdom I sought, power that matched the talent I knew existed within me, whether anyone else acknowledged it properly or not. In the wake of fear over being blamed for the Riddles' deaths came a rage that hadn't been diminished by the act of killing them. Simon's death had likewise been insufficient to really sate anything, and my hunger to increase my own power swelled. Reality could and would bend to my whim, and revenge was still a small ember for that desire. But it wasn't pure emotion or mere ego that drove me. It was also instinctual by now to ensure my survival. Of course, my sights should be set higher now than just that, blooming out of that bud.

Annie had been speaking, and it was with mild irritation that I tuned back to her. As politely as I could, I said, "Pardon?"

She didn't seem to take offense. "I just said it makes sense for you to take some time off...after everything that happened. I mean, I don't know everything about Grindelwald or Simon, but it had to be terrible. Even if you didn't like him, not being able to save him..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes searching.

It would have been a cute attempt, had it not been so transparent. "I thought I'd taught you more subtlety than that."

She flushed slightly, as if I truly cared how well she did. As if I ever thought she could act up to my standards. "Sorry, Tom."

She was rather like a pet. Or a living project. She was perhaps my favorite creation at Hogwarts. The little intrigue this thought aroused made me sigh and say, "You'll get your fair share of training should you go into the Ministry in a year."

Adamantly, her head shook. "Oh, no, I'm not going into the Ministry. Not right away. Probably not at all." A shy smile that made me wince on the inside sprang to her face as she added, "I want to travel and study. Like you said you might eventually. I'm – I'm not afraid, regardless of what Simon said."

A rancid scent of the past drifted by as I managed, "And what did he say?"

She shrugged, uncomfortable due to the small shred of nobility in her, which didn't want to betray a confidence. But her loyalty to me won out as she admitted, "He said you did awful things at times, claiming it was to learn. Like...like you hurt people. And animals."

I almost snorted, covering it with a cough that was so realistic she moved to pat me upon the back. I let her, not enjoying the shivers the contact brought, associating it with revulsion. "A monstrous notion," I finally got out.

She gave a little shrug. "It depends, right? I mean, I'd hate it. The thought makes me sick to even imagine. But I'd kill to help those I care about."

"Ah, but a preemptive kill is no doubt what Simon was referring to," I said casually. Leaning against the cold wall that held my namesake's chambers, I added, "Slaughtering an innocent for the sake of learning...well, some wouldn't see that as worthwhile, regardless of whether the knowledge gained could be used down the road."

"Do you?" It was a simple question, in that it was only two words long. I paused, and she persisted. "Would you care?"

"I'm more interested in hearing whether you would," I countered, knowing she'd love to think I cared about what she thought.

Indeed, after a brief struggle, she slowly said, "You showed me that the end is what really matters. When Hagrid was expelled, I – I was torn because he was my friend. I'm still not sure, but if he was a threat, well...I'd like to think I would be strong enough to stand up to him. I'd like to think that, when it matters, I'd be there for those I care about. And...and that's really you, Tom. I know you never liked being cared for – that was obvious – but...well, if you needed me, I'd be there for you. You're the only one who listened or guided me. Bill says he would do anything for me, but then he also says he would never harm another, so...well, it doesn't add up. I feel more tied to you."

"How Hufflepuff," was all I responded with.

She shuffled, her face red. "You don't have to make fun of me."

"I'm certainly not. You were saying?"

"Well...just, I learned a lot from you. I won't forget it." She gave a little laugh, admitting, "I tried some magic on my own...it didn't turn out right. During the transfiguration part, I got burned and grew scales and peeled and...some other things. I don't know if I'll try it again."

"Now, that's not brave," I said, half-listening. "What if I needed you to?"

"Then I'd do it."

My full attention came to her at that, to the stubborn courage that lurked in her slightly nervous eyes. And I felt...a measure of delight. Smug satisfaction and pride. In a teasing voice, I said, "My little pet. Perhaps you might keep watch over Snicks. He rather likes it here." I knew I had to move forward on my own. Should I have use for another companion at some point, I would find one. Both Snicks and I were ready to move on – apart.

At my offer, she threw her arms around me. I stiffened at first and then forced myself to relax. I counted the seconds until she released me, hurriedly saying, "I really must go..."

Her face fell briefly, but then she mustered the strength I had imparted to her. "I hope I see you again. Write, or something, please." Another nervous laugh came as she said, "Rip the pages out of the diary and use them for parchment. But, otherwise...it's been... _illuminating_... knowing you." She seemed proud of using that word.

"Illumination in darkness," I commented. Then, to give her an explanation, I indicated the shadowed corridor we inhabited.

Should I need her, I would come back, but the truth was that I desired only solitude. In the end, I was all I needed. But my mark upon her and others would live on, as a more vivid reminder of my influential presence than perhaps anything else. Yet.

I made my way to the train station at night, my thin cloak shrouding me from the world. Every purchase I'd bought or swindled throbbed as if with forceful new life against me, and my palms dampened slightly. But I was strong. I was capable. Pain was something I could take. Threats of death, ugly twists of fate, the jaws of destiny nipping at my heels like soulless imps trying to mock me and drag me down... I would mold all as I wished.

_As I am now._

_The room is small and dank – damp and creaking, again. All floors give way to that, one of many atrocities that bind worlds both magic and Muggle. But at least enchantment fills the air here, welcomed if dark. Especially in my room, where I stand alone. Boarded up windows of slanted style decorate the old building, vacant for an eternity until my arrival. Dust hangs in the air, grating particles that redden my eyes and nose in irritation. I ignore it; I care not how I appear now in this unlit room. I exist solely in my mind right now. My hands still tremble, chilled from the journey and fraught with anticipation._

_Appropriately, my wand twitches with me, shooting quivering sparks that fade into the shadows of the dim room. Slowly, I open a bag; a small one. Lightweight._

_You would think I am opening a lion's mouth with how my heart beats. But I quell both that mental image and my body's reaction, pulling out a single thread._

_That is all. A piece of fabric, a fiber, worn and faded and barely longer than my spindly thumb._

_I take a deep breath. Muggles would try and thrash me right now. Even Hogwarts itself, by constant and sheer irksome intrusion, would prevent me from continuing. I have no such minor distractions now. The past is merely an excuse, one to which I am not tied._

_Regardless of what anyone has said._

_My teeth grit, and I force my mind back upon the string. The tiny thread shakes in my palm, squirming itself beneath my skin. It burns – sears. SEARS. My body tenses, my mind receding. I have been cut a lifetime ago; razors taken to my wrists to see if the blood flowing was red and human. I shed no tears then, reached out to no hand callously offered._

_I don't now. Now, I find glory in the pain of my own making. I do not pry apart the smoking skin on my hand and pull the thread out. I welcome the agony of the fiber burrowing itself beneath my flesh, knowing it will dull other pains, release me from constraints._

_It tunnels deeper, threading its way beneath every layer of my convulsing being. I keel over, fingers digging into the unrelenting concrete floor, bending my body in a fetal position._

_As I coil up outwardly, my center unravels._

_The thread twists itself into every bit of my essence, latching on and tugging parts out. It lengthens - it blocks my inner self from reconnecting as it was before. With nowhere to go, the weak parts torn by the thread pour out. I cough, my former self coming out as clotted blood. Pain wracks its merciless worst upon me, at my bidding. My vision blurs further. Air becomes a chore to take in, and I panic, clawing my chest. But I do not yield. I wait out the hours that fill the dark night on the chilled, hard floor in a forgotten building alone._

_Inner will propels me upright, and I stumble to my feet, shivering and collapsing, thinking only of the end result. My limbs stagger about as I grope in the dark, forcing my eyes to see through it, to find a piece of the broken glass that litters my floor. To find a sliver of light to see myself in, to see what pulses through my veins and tumbles out._

_It isn't me. At least, not the recognizable me from the past. Red orbs against a marble backdrop glare at me with unnatural light. They have the color of blood, the essence rid from inside me. A permanent change; a shedding. A purification. I place my hands upon my flat stomach...I feel as if my fingertips can almost trace the new hardness I find inside. The threads of my life's fabric have reconfigured, diverting from my heart. I can tap into some facets of my former being, all the pain, the memories, the struggling and clawing. It all fuels my power, embedded directly in my will. But now, it has not even the littlest dilution. Other parts of me have a vacuum where once existed humanity._

_I have dealt agony, and I now take it easily, for it all leads to my willed end. I will do either again, as much as I desire to or need. I prevail where others would fall; I ensure my survival where others would fearfully shudder, claiming it to be unnatural or detrimental. The face staring back at me in the cracked frame is a sight of victory. I have transformed nature – no, I have perfected it._

_I will never be prone to the weaknesses of Dumbledore, never fall from "compassion" or "nobility," or such timid things clothed in glory. As I lean alone against the shadowed, fractured walls, breathing stale puffs of air into new lungs, I alone know the truth._

_In the end, I will always survive._


End file.
